


In Fields of White

by wille_zarr



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Angst, But it's good tension, Din is stubborn, Din uses Ka'r'ika instead of Cyar'ika, F/M, Family, Fluff, Found Family, JUST KISS ALREADY, Ka'r'ika, Mutual Pining, On the Run, Pining, Reader has a mysterious past, Reader is feisty, Roller coaster of events, Romance, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, So. Much. Tension., reader has personality, yeehaw!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:07:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 64,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25060600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wille_zarr/pseuds/wille_zarr
Summary: Fleeing from the life you wish more than anything to forget, you are left to navigate the galaxy alone as a wide-eyed wanderer. In the process of evading the dangers linked to your previous life, your destiny is forever altered when you cross paths with an intimidating Mandalorian and his unusually gifted child.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & You, Cara Dune & Reader, Cara Dune & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Din Djarin & Omera, Din Djarin/Original Character(s), Din Djarin/Original Female Character(s), Din Djarin/Reader, Din Djarin/You, Omera & Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV) & Original Character(s), The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/You
Comments: 293
Kudos: 441





	1. We Have a Deal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated T for violence; reference to mild injuries; death; mild swearing; mentions of hunger

**Chapter One: We Have a Deal**

Reflecting upon the events of your life, you decide you must be either the luckiest or most cursed person in the galaxy. 

Current events have you leaning towards the latter.

With a frustrated grunt, you squint your eyes against the dust billowing down the street. Reaching up to your hat, you lower a pair of goggles to rest securely around your eyes. You mutter curses when you feel sand rattling around in the lenses, trapped inside by the whipping wind. 

You slightly lift the scarf pressed against your mouth and spit, ridding your mouth of the dust turning to mud. At this point, six weeks into your miserable residence on the tiny planet of Taek, you must have consumed enough dust and dirt to birth a new desert planet.

Grumbling complaints to yourself, you tighten the scarf around your face as you stalk down the street, avoiding eye contact with anyone or anything for too long. You learned that lesson the first week on Taek after a tussle with a Twi’lek. 

In your defense, you were only trying to be friendly, but, _apparently,_ Taek didn’t have much in the way of locals, only smugglers and pirates looking for a quick refuel and refresh. Prolonged eye contact and a friendly “hello” with those kinds sometimes didn’t end too terribly well. The fading bite mark on your arm proved as much.

Hoping to rid yourself of the dust that seemed to penetrate everything this dirtball had to offer, you slip in between two buildings, allowing yourself a reprieve from the sandstorm whipping down the street. You loosen your scarf, shaking your head as sand pours from it like a waterfall.

“Damn it,” you grumble. “I shouldn’t be hungry after all the sand I’ve swallowed.” You spit more dirt out of your mouth as if to prove your point. Satisfied that you’ve ridded yourself of as much dirt as possibly achievable on a planet full of _dirt,_ you turn your attention back towards assessing Taek’s current batch of inhabitants. 

Taek’s only starport held a different crowd of creatures every couple of days. Outside of the few storekeepers, cantina-owners, and brothels, you are convinced Taek holds no permanent residents. You cross your arms and lean against the corner of the building. “One mean-looking squid-man,” you mumble under your breath as you take tally. “A Twi’lek, looks like a smuggler…. Rodian...”

A bright flash of light from down the street pulls your eyes in that direction. Letting your arms fall to the side, you squint, making out an armored figure striding down the street, reflecting bright sunlight even through the dust caking the air.

_A Mandalorian._

With a sharp inhale of breath, you jerk backwards into the alley. _“No, no, no!”_ you hiss to yourself. 

You’d seen and avoided other bounty hunters on Taek, but this was a _Mandalorian_ bounty hunter. 

You’d heard stories about Mandalorian hunters.

If he was looking for you…

Your stomach tightens with more than just hunger.

Stars.

You are dead.

Forcing your breath to even itself out, you scold yourself for the unreasonable panic. _“It’s going to be okay; I’m safe,”_ you mentally repeat your well-worn mantra. You pause, scowling.

A new mantra might be in order at this point in your life.

You peer back around the corner of the building, torn between wanting to observe the actions of the Mandalorian or bolting as far away as possible. With a deep breath, you choose the former, and also possibly the _dumbest,_ option. Releasing an anxious sigh, you lower the goggles onto your face and tighten the scarf back across your mouth.

You move forward, mingling with the faces of others who, like you, wish to escape a named existence. You push against the crowds of people, eyes sweeping back and forth for any sign of the sun-reflecting armor. 

Panic slowly begins to creep back in when, after several minutes of searching, you can find no sign of the Mandalorian. 

A sinking feeling grows in your stomach that, in this game of tooka-cat and nuna, you might just be the _nuna_ after all.

After an eternity swimming through a faceless crowd, your eyes latch onto gleaming metal again. You grin underneath your scarf, and your grin only widens when you see the cantina he chooses to go inside. 

The _Tiny Whomp Rat Cantina_ is one of the few establishments where you have managed to make connections with a few of the bartenders. When you are having an unusually lucky day, one of the friendlier bartenders would provide some extra work for credits or a bit of extra food.

You position yourself across the street, hoping you looked as ordinary as whatever's considered ordinary on Taek. You shake your head with a groan. Inhaling dust all day and the lack of food is beginning to mess with your head. You suppose that might explain why you are currently _stalking a Mandalorian_ instead of getting the _hell out of sight._

You let your legs give way as you slowly sink down to the ground, leaning against the wall of a building for support. You feel and look _pathetic_ \- the perfect disguise.

Frustration presses in your chest after an hour passes with no sign of the Mandalorian leaving the cantina. At this point, you’ve called the Mandalorian every curse word under the sun, and even invented a few new ones for him. To top it off, dusk is falling, and it is beginning to grow chilly, only flaming your irritability further.

_Stupid tin-head._

_Son of a Hutt._

_Shavit brain._

_Kriffin metal man._

_Damn it!_ You are too impulsive and impatient for this. You grumble new complaints under your breath as you rip your scarf down and roughly rub your face. If the hunter is searching for you, he isn’t doing a very good job so far.

_Oh, what the hell._

You're going inside.

You stand, pausing a moment to let the blood rush back into your legs. You hesitate only a split second before stalking across the street and creeping through the cantina doors.

You can hear your grandfather’s voice now.

_“Child, did you think at all before you chose to act?”_

_“Yes, actually, I did this time. But probably for not long enough."_

Your grandfather is still spitting truths at you even in death.

Shuffling forward, you crinkle your nose at the wall of _smell_ that smacks you in the face as you move inside. You hate this place. It smells like a rotting Hutt eating a decomposing Kowakian monkey-lizard whilst basking in the swamp gasses of Nal Hutta. 

Not that you probably smell any better at this point, but _still._

The only thing you are grateful for is the fact that the lack of light inside the dingy cantina provided excellent concealment.

Daring not to glance around too much and draw attention to yourself, you stalk straight towards the bar, very grateful to see it’s your friend, a grey-haired elderly man named Irea, working this evening. He looks up and actually smiles at you. It took _three_ weeks to get that smile out of him, and so you return it eagerly. His is the only smile you’ve seen in weeks.

“Hey, kid.” He picks up a glass and begins drying it with a stained rag. “I’m afraid I don’t have any work for you today.” He sighs. “The boss is cracking down, and I-”

“It’s okay,” you interrupt with a raised hand. You slip into a bar stool and lean forward, eyes darting around. You don’t see the Mandalorian anywhere. You lower your eyes, clenching your hands tightly together on the bar in front of you. “I haven’t come here about that.”

Irea tucks his rag into his back pocket and places a hand on the bar beside you, leaning forward with his body, blocking your conversation from the prying eyes of customers. “What’s wrong, kid?”

You bite your lip. “Nothing… I mean, I-” You pause and take a shaky breath. Your eyes lift up to meet his own. “I need to ask you about one of your customers.” Your voice drops so low that even you struggled to hear what you had to say. You dart your eyes around again, still not spying the Mandalorian anywhere. You can’t help but fear at any given moment he will jump at you from behind.

“Oh?” the old bartender prods.

You tense, scared to even breath the words. “The _Mandalorian_. He came in here, right?”

Irea nods slowly. “He’s in one of the back booths,” he whispers, tilting his head towards the rear of the cantina.

You can’t see the back booths from your current vantage point, but your teeth clench knowing you are in such close proximity to the Mandalorian. Too close. You instinctively pull your hat down to sit lower on your face.

“What is he doing here?” you hiss. “Do you know?”

Irea’s eyes shoot around the room. Once he is satisfied there is no one close enough to eavesdrop, he continues, “He’s talking with some strangers I’ve not seen before.” A mischievous expression inches across his face. “But I may have overheard a bit of their conversation, _accidentally_ , mind you.” He points a finger at you with a wink.

You flash him a bright grin. “Of course, of course. _Accidentally._ ”

The old bartender motions for you to move closer towards the wall, so you slip off the barstool and move along with him. He leans in closer to your face. “The Mandalorian is trying to discover the location of Marek’s basecamp.”

You suck air through your teeth with a sharp hiss. “No way.” You shake your head. “Good luck finding that out from anyone.”

He chuckles. “I’m certainly not going to tell him.”

You laugh along with him. “Me neither. Stars!”

Another lesson you learned about this region within the first week of your stay: it’s _probably_ a good idea to avoid associating with Marek and his smuggling ring cronies. 

Of course, you learned this after you had already “visited” said basecamp. What can you say? You have a knack for learning lessons the hard way.

But, _thank the Maker,_ the Mandalorian is not searching for you. You feel the tension drain from your shoulders as this realization sinks in.

“Stars, if I had any money, I’d buy a drink right about now,” you chuckle dryly, tucking your chin underneath the ragged scarf draped around your neck. Irea’s eyes soften, and he pats you knowingly on the shoulder.

You smile up at him and crinkle your nose. “Well, thanks anyway,” you sigh, shifting to stand up.

A heavy _thud_ of metal launches you back into the seat.

Oh hell!

_Hell!_

_**Kriffin’ hell!** _

All the air shoots from your lungs as you stupidly gawk up at the Mandalorian. He leans against the bar, mere _feet_ away from you.

“For my tab,” the Mandalorian rasps through his helmet’s vocoder, sliding credits towards the old bartender. The Mandalorian pulls away, not sparing one glance at you before sweeping out of the cantina.

You clasp your hands over your eyes, letting out a sharp breath.

“ _Stars_ ,” you mumble. All of that stress and worry, and the Mandalorian hadn’t even _looked_ at you. If you weren’t so relieved, you _might_ would feel insulted.

Irea chuckles. “It’s getting late, kid.”

You nod your head, understanding the meaning behind his careful words. After dark, the streets of Taek were not fit for those wishing to avoid trouble. 

And seeing as how you possess no weapon, you care _very much_ to avoid the night. You move to stand up again when Irea discretely slides a small package under your hand.

“It’s all I can spare without the owner noticing,” he hisses. “You didn’t get it from me.” He spins on his heel, turning his attention back to drying dishes. You feel tears burn in the corner of your eyes, and you squeeze the bag of scraps to your thigh.

_You are too kind for this place._

\-------

You make your way down the street, grateful that the air has finally cleared itself of the rolling dust clouds. It’s uplifting to walk and breath in clear air, something you never thought you’d take for granted. A wave of stench hits your nostrils from the direction of a junkpile, and you almost gag. 

Well, it's _mostly_ clear air, anyway.

As you continue on your way back to your home camp, you stop by a few of the mechanic shops to ask if they have any work available. You are met with the usual: no work. Taek is pretty small, and the local staff of mechanics keep things taken care of, leaving little work to freelancers like yourself. 

Which is probably for the best.

You make a _terrible_ mechanic.

Ignoring your mounting frustration towards life, you make sure to stop and search a few garbage dumpsters located behind some cantinas for anything you can hoard. 

Again, no luck. 

The food Irea slipped you will have to do for now.

You are so _tired_ of this.

You numbly weave your way through the dark labyrinth of alleys, stars already beginning to twinkle in the sky, instinctively following the path you have traversed every morning and evening for the past six weeks. 

As you near the spot where you’ve been sleeping at night, you blood rushes ice cold at a distressed, high-pitched scream echoing from one of the nearby alleys.

You cringe, cover your ears, and _keep walking._

You know you have to keep moving; ignore everything you might hear. _No one_ investigated screams at night on Taek. Not unless they were heavily armed and ready to throw down, which you most certainly _aren’t._ But after another shrill cry rises in the air, your twisting heart won’t allow your feet to keep moving away.

You let out a groan and follow the length of an alleyway before the voices are just around the corner. You cautiously move forward, crouching behind a crate. You peer above it, grimacing when you spy two Zabrak women pressed against the wall of a building. You recognize them from one of the merchant stores in town. They are rapidly speaking in their native language, cowering in terror. You do not recognize the two males, one Rodian and the other a species you had no name for. 

But he was tall, _really_ tall.

This... probably won't end well.

The Rodian’s hand shoots out and grabs one of the Zabrak’s arms, sending her into screaming hysterics.

“Wait!” you shriek, jumping up from behind the crate more as an involuntary reaction to the Zabrak’s screams than a conscious decision. “Stop!”

The Rodian actually drops the Zabrak’s arm, in complete shock at your sudden appearance. He and his partner take a few steps towards you, speaking a language you have no name for. 

But their body language didn’t exactly scream “friendly”. 

You shake your head, eyes narrowing. 

Stars, this was not planned. 

You have one option.

“ _Run!_ ” you shriek at the Zabraks, not sticking around to see if they take advantage of your distraction. You scramble over a crate and fly down corridors as fast as your feet can take you. You know these alleys well, just about the _only_ advantage to being marooned for six weeks on Taek. You take a few confusing twists and turns before diving behind a barrier wall, panting heavily. You clutch your side, pain stabbing it from your sudden burst of adrenaline.

_“Stars, the things I get mixed up in,”_ you groan inwardly.

Just when you start to think you might be free, you hear the men’s yells echoing from one alleyway over.

_Damn!_ They _both_ followed you.

You let out a short growl and clench your teeth, pushing away from the wall and zooming towards the location of your home camp. If you can get there _unseen,_ you could hunker down for a few days and stay hidden until the pirates, smugglers, _whatever_ , leave the planet.

You turn the corner, hope building in your chest, and run full-speed into the courtyard- _straight into the Rodian._

You shriek and stumble backwards, right into the tall alien’s legs. His hands tighten hard around your upper arms. You yelp at the pain and uselessly try to pull away. The Rodian moves forward laughing and saying things to you in his native language.

“Let me go, you filthy…. disgusting… _bug!_ ” You kick as hard as you can, trying to make contact with the tall alien’s legs, but he only laughs and lifts you up in the air by your arms. The oxygen whooshes out of your lungs as your feet dangle a good three or four feet in the air.

“Ahg!” you cry. “Listen! I- I… urg, no hard feelings! I’m…. a mechanic! I…. offer services… _free!_ ”

Both men burst into laughter, but you remain dangling in the air.

_“Put her down.”_

You jerk your head sideways. Standing against a wall, almost nonchalantly, is _your Mandalorian_. Your mouth gapes open in utter disbelief.

“I said,” he takes one step forward, “down… _Now._ ”

You catch the shine of a weapon pointed directly at the tall alien.

_Holy kriff._

The tall alien harshly hurls you to the ground. You hit dirt _hard_ with a cry and cover your head instinctively. You have no time to process anything before-

_**BLAST. BLAST.**_

The stench of burned flesh immediately permeates your nose. You crack open your eyes to find yourself face-to-face with the smoking remains of your Rodian friend.

“Bloody seven hells!” you yelp, stumbling up to your feet. You gawk down at the two bodies, mouth still gaped open. Your senses flood back to you all at once. Your eyes shoot up in the direction of where the Mandalorian had just been standing. All you can see is the gleam from the back of his helmet as he retreats from the courtyard.

“Wait!” you cry, freezing him mid-stride. He does not turn around, but you see him tilt his helmet slightly to the side at your voice.

You pause, your heart pumping so hard from adrenaline that you can hear it pounding in your ears.

Maybe it was that same adrenaline or your heightened emotions, but the words that spill out of your mouth surprise even _you._

"I know what you're looking for."

He hadn’t been expecting that.

The Mandalorian slowly, silently turns in your direction. His dark visor bores straight into you, not at all unlike a falcon considering if you are worth making prey.

You mentally hiss at yourself, lamenting your impulsion. 

_Oh, what the hell._

Too late now.

The Mandalorian continues staring at you in laden silence. You take this as an indication to continue. You hide your shaking hands in the pockets of your pants and take a few steps forward, as close as you dared to someone so threatening and who _just killed two men now laying at your feet._

“You’re looking for Marek’s base.” You pause, testing the words. The Mandalorian makes no noise nor shows any indication that you are correct.

Silently berating yourself and your horrible decision-making skills, you open your mouth to continue. “Nobody here will help you. Nobody who knows where it’s located.” You pause again and flex your fingers nervously. “They’re… too intimidated.”

This time you let the silence sit, heavy and dense between the two of you.

After what feels like an eternity, the Mandalorian tilts his visor to the side. “And?”

With a deep breath, you throw your shoulders back, taking on the presence of someone much older, experienced, and confident. “I can take you there.” Pause. “You have to go on foot. A ship or speeder would trip the sensors.” Pause. “And you can’t get there without my help.”

Thick silence hangs in the air. You fear he might burn you right where you stand with just his _damn_ gaze. Abruptly, the Mandalorian shifts to place a hand on his holster. You shallow hard at the motion, though you suspect it’s an involuntary mannerism of his.

“Fine… how much?” his voice rasps.

You shake your head. “No credits.”

His hand drops from the holster at that. 

_“What_ then?”

You take a second to consider your words. This could turn out to be another scheme that fails horribly, but at this point, it is all the hope you have left. You had to throw your trust to _something._

“I-I need transportation off this rock.” You can’t help the edge of desperation your voice takes on. “As close to Keolith as you believe is a… fair exchange.”

The Mandalorian remains silent a few seconds longer than you are comfortable with.

“Why transportation?” his gruff, modulated voice slices through the silence. “Credits just as easily pays for transportation.”

You shake your head. “There’s no public transportation here. Even if I had the credits, I'd have to trust a stranger found in a dingy cantina.” You let a small smile inch onto your face. “And considering my limited experiences here,” you motion towards the smoking bodies, “I really don’t want to do that.”

You hear the Mandalorian grunt, your heart leaping that you might _actually_ be getting somewhere with him. You take a few steps closer towards the Mandalorian. “Plus, I can work! I’m a… mechanic.” You bite your tongue at this. You… probably should not claim that as a _benefit_ to having you on-board.

Your shoulders sink, losing a bit of their straightness. “I’m… I just have to get out of this place,” you finally say, your voice sounding very small and very unlike you. You stare the Mandalorian down, refusing to shift your eyes away despite the discomfort bubbling in your chest.

The Mandalorian is the one to break the gaze, and he looks down at the ground with a heavy sigh. “Fine.” He lifts his head back up. “We have a deal.” 

Your eyes flutter in shock. “Whu-?” Quickly masking your surprise, you nod sharply. You straighten back up, taking on the persona of confidence again. “Excellent… We have a deal then.” You can’t help but flash a toothy grin at the Mandalorian.

You close the rest of the distance between the two of you and reach out a hand. “In my culture, we shake on deals,” you explain when the Mandalorian stares down at your open hand.

You hear him release a puff of air through his vocoder, but he carefully places his hand in yours- a solid, firm grip, and you flash an impish smirk up at him. 

The dark, emotionless visor stares back down.

You are first to pull your hand away and cross your arms. “It would be best to head out in the morning. It’s about a whole day’s walk. We can meet here at dawn?”

The Mandalorian nods in agreement. “Fine.” His helmet then turns to look at something somewhere behind you. You follow his line of sight, eyes moving around the courtyard, pausing when you see the bodies of the men still laying on the ground. You chuckle cynically at the sight. Even after the sounds of blaster fire, no one dared come see about it until morning.

“Where do you live?” his raspy voice interrupts your dark humor. “I can… escort you there.”

At that, you let out a dry chuckle. Your smile saddens when he tilts his head at your response. 

“Sure.” You keep your arms crossed as you meander through the courtyard and past the bodies lying dead on the ground. You turn and look up at the Mandalorian who is trailing slowly behind you. 

“I’m kind of… already home.” You drop to your knees and pry away a loosened board underneath decking beside a set of stairs. You squirm through the tight opening, twisting around to peer back up at the Mandalorian towering over you. 

“See you tomorrow, Mandalorian.” You pause. “Oh, and… thanks for, you know, killing them.” You nod in the direction of the corpses.

With a loud thud, you pull the board back closed, entombing yourself under the decking you call home. You start to crawl further underneath when you hesitate, observing the Mandalorian through the cracks between the boards. He is staring directly at the panel you had just replaced. You almost think he starts to move forward.

But he turns on his heel and strides away, leaving only you and two dead bodies for company in the courtyard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is! The first chapter of many to come. Thank you so much for reading! I already have the entire story planned from beginning to end with multiple chapters pre-written, so expect new updates every Friday. Follow me on tumblr (wille-zarr) for any updates! 
> 
> Also, shout out to my amazing tumblr BETA readers sana-katarn, disneyjedi19, and barrissoffee77 for their fantastic feedback and for cheering me on throughout this whole process. And big thank you to everyone who has supported me and encouraged me to write this story. You guys are the best!


	2. Sound of Voices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and the Mandalorian begin your journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter rated T for violence; mild cursing; death; mild injuries; discussion of hunger

You hardly slept the night before. Besides the obvious, (it _was_ a bit troublesome trying to sleep within yards of two dead bodies), you also know how dangerous it is to mix with bounty hunters and smugglers. 

And, yet, here you are, making deals with one and crossing the other. _Stars_ , your grandfather would have choice words for you right about now.

 _What the hell, child._ He would shake his head. _What the hell._

With a grunt, you pluck at the loose strings on your shirt as you dangle your legs back and forth, sitting atop the railing of the decking you slept under. Squinting against the morning sunlight fighting its way through the dense clouds of dust, you let out a restless sigh and lean forward, unable to keep still in your impatient state. 

You turn your head to stare down at the ground where, just an hour before, your two dead “friends” laid with gaping holes in their heads. An impish smirk teases on your lips when you think back to the curious story you had spun to bored authorities concerning the incident. 

_“It was horrible!” You force your lower lip to quiver. “A monstrous pack of old ladies came out of nowhere and just-” you make a shooting motion with your fingers, “assassinated them!”_

Heh, you always liked a good excuse to tell a marvelous story. For your own amusement, of course. Amusement comes few and far between these days, so you will take it whenever the opportunity comes knocking. 

_Maker, I’m hilarious._

Snorting to yourself, you reach down and shift the satchel wrapped tightly across your chest. It had been gifted to you by Irea shortly after you finished speaking to authorities concerning the courtyard incident. You had darted down the shadowy alleys and straight into the empty _Tiny Whomp Rat_ Cantina. Bursting through the back entrance, you slammed yourself into a bar stool, panting, and relayed the night’s events to Irea.

 _“Wait, wait, tell me again. At first, you wanted to_ avoid _bounty hunters. Now you’re_ traveling _with one?” Irea raises a thin eyebrow._

_You groan. “I know how it sounds.” You let your forehead drop to the bar with an audible thud. “It’s… risky.”_

_“Kid, I wouldn’t put my head there. I know what’s touched it.” Irea sighs as you yank your head back up and rub your face with a grimace. Irea leans one hand on the bar in front of you. “Are you sure about this?”_

_You turn wide, blinking eyes to Irea. You remain silent a few heartbeats as you consider the thousand possible ways this could blow up in your face._

_Traveling with a bounty hunter when you might possibly have a bounty on your head is the pinnacle of stupidity. And you know it._

_“No.” You look down in shame. “But I’m… desperate. It’s worth the risk.” You hear Irea let out a raspy huff. You glance up timidly, and your face warms. You feel so vulnerable, like a kid again, when you are with Irea. For some reason, you find yourself wanting him to approve of your choice._

_You know why._

_He reminds you of Grandpa._

Grumbling and muttering under his breath about “kids these days”, Irea had given you what few food scraps he could sneak out before shooing you out of the cantina. You had gone straight back to the courtyard to wait for your Mandalorian.

Twirling around in the gentle breeze, a glossy wind chime on a nearby deck flashes a bright bolt of light in your direction, forcing your thoughts begrudgingly to your Mandalorian and his fancy, flashy armor. 

Living with him will be a challenge, to say the least. You pride yourself on the ability to connect with people, read their eyes. But that’s a bit hard to do when those eyes are hidden behind frigid, impassive metal.

You have no way of knowing if truth and honor rest in his gaze.

“Ready?”

You almost plummet off the railing at his sudden appearance. You let a few spastic, nervous laughs slip off your lips as you catch yourself.

The Mandalorian watches you in silence, crossing his arms as he examines you.

“Uh, yes.” You push forward with a grunt and land on the ground. You awkwardly twine your fingers around your bag strap. “…I’m ready.”

“Good.” The Mandalorian nods sharply and motions you forward.

You bite your lip and mentally cycle through the various masks you’ve worn over the years. You settle on a demure, composed expression to cover your discomfort. So, you mimic his nod and calmly move forward, none too pleased with the sense of him hovering behind you like a shadow as the two of you leave the openness of the courtyard for the twisting turns of Taek’s alleys.

Feeling a bit cheeky, which you blame on the happy morning sun, you decide to break the silence and ask the Mandalorian a question. 

“So, Mandalorian,” You continue stalking forward, “aren’t you going to ask me how I slept?” You grin to yourself when you hear a grunt from behind you.

“I have a feeling,” you hear him respond lowly, a deep rasp to his voice audible through the vocoder, “you’ll tell me regardless.”

Biting back a smile, you twist through a tight opening in a fence line. You hear him imitate your action. “I slept great-” you step atop a crate and jump down to the ground on the opposite side of a second fence- “until, that is, I swore I heard my two dead pals begin to whisper to me.” You let the smile loose across your face, unable to fight it off.

“Hmf,” he grunts, and you hear a solid _thump_ as he drops to the ground beside the fence, “might want to get that checked out.” You almost swear there is a lightness, a humor, to his voice, but unfortunately, the vocoder renders his tone mostly unreadable.

As you continue maneuvering the pathways, you chuckle underneath your scarf as you watch person after person step aside to let you and your warrior companion pass. _Hmm_ , you could get used to having a Mandalorian as a traveling companion if it meant gaining this level of respect, or rather _fear_ , shown wherever you went. 

But then again, the imposing presence of the Mandalorian also attracts attention directed towards _you._

That’s… not good. 

With a frustrated groan, you yank your scarf high on your face, praying it is enough to avoid any possible recognition.

The Mandalorian’s heavy gait and subtle clank of armor is all that tells you he is still dutifully trailing behind you. Curiosity winning over, you angle your head back to peek at the him. He slants his head at you, and you promptly snap your gaze back around and awkwardly cough a few times. 

“It’s… a bit of a rough journey,” you throw back at him, hoping to lighten the anxious pressure building in the center of your chest. “I… hope you like climbing.” 

You hear no reply this time.

_Okay, well…great._

Unwilling to attempt another line of conversation, you resign yourself to leading him through the remainder of the town in strained silence.

 _Holy hell_ , you are only ten minutes into this arrangement, and you are already embarrassing yourself.

Abruptly, a crisp gust of desert air tickles the exposed part of your face. Dropping your scarf, you bolt forward and beam at the vast, breathtaking exposure of desert landscape sprawling before you. It will be a grueling trip through the arid land, but _thank the Maker_ , at least the air will be fresh and void of any wafting scents of garbage.

A playful grin on your face, you glance over at the Mandalorian. He stands a few feet away from you, fingers looped and hooked on his belt. He dips his helmet to face you, impassive visor awaiting your lead. You suck in a sharp breath and point out into the barren wasteland. “It’s due west this way.” You motion towards hills littered with heavy boulders and sharp rocks. “It’s really well-hidden and a bit confusing at first to get to unless you’ve already been there.” You let your arm drop to your side.

“Before we do this, I need to know something,” he interrupts, harsh voice breaking his silence.

You flutter your eyes, startled at his abrupt question.

He takes a broad step forward, positioning himself squarely in front of you. “What is _your_ connection to Marek?” His imposing figure casts a dark shadow across your face. 

Stars, that _kriffing_ gaze. It will surely kill you.

“I- I… uh,” you stumble over your words, stunned by the threatening tone laced in the Mandalorian’s question. You instinctively choose a new mask to put on, this time a mask of cheeky indifference. You quickly flash the Mandalorian an easy, disarming smile. “When I first arrived here, I was looking for work. Marek offered it to me. I didn’t approve of his…. _methods_.” You wave your hand out to the side. “I only did one job for him, I swear. I hate the guy.” Your lips purse. “Bastard didn’t even _pay_ me.”

You hold your breath as the Mandalorian considers your words. He shifts to rest his hand on his holster, prompting your heart to flutter even faster in your chest. You believe you hear a soft sigh before he swiftly brushes past you. “Let’s go.”

You stand unmoving.

Realizing this, he turns back to observe you. “Is… something wrong?” The sun reflects against his helmet as he angles his head to look you up and down. You think you might note irritation, or possibly impatience, through his vocoder. You cross your arms self-consciously.

At this moment, the wind begins to pick up, and your eyes flit against the sand. “You won’t leave me behind in the desert-” you reach up and wiggle your goggles down into position- “will you?” You hate how weak, scared even, you sound as you ask the question.

“No,” he responses firmly. 

You blink, a bit surprised by the strength layered in his reply.

He turns to look down at the ground. “I won’t.” 

You stare after him as he tucks his head down against the wind and begins moving away. 

“Well,” you start following after him, “that’s… good then.”

You are a couple hours into your journey with very few words shared between the two of you. You decide the Mandalorian must be one of those thinking-types, you decide after yet another failed attempt at conversation. If he is a “think-more, talk-less” kind of person, that would explain his distaste for conversations that lasted longer than _thirty damn seconds_. And you _highly_ doubt the toughened warrior is the _shy_ type. 

Though, you also must consider, maybe he just didn’t want conversation with _you_. You huff in indignation at the very thought.

His conversation skills aside, you might find yourself impressed with his physical stamina and speed of movement if you are not currently stumbling along trying to desperately keep up with him. It certainly didn’t help matters that you are functioning on less food than you care to admit. 

You can’t stop a sour frown from gracing your face as you observe the Mandalorian effortlessly climb _another_ immense boulder. 

“Oh _hell_ ,” you grumble just under your breath, “kriff everything and everyone on this planet.” Continuing to string the complaints together under your breath, you grasp on to the large boulder. Scrambling with your legs, you scrap to pull yourself up. 

You no longer withhold your complaints to just under your breath. You are tired, hungry, and, hell, _pissed_. You do not bloody well care what the Mandalorian overhears.

“Blasted seven Corellian hells,” you grunt, still attempting to pull yourself up with no success, “I swear I never- _erf_ \- want to see a kriffin’ rock…. ever… _again_.”

You gasp as a gloved hand wraps around your arm. 

“Give me your other hand.”

You blink up at the dusty glove of the Mandalorian, and you bite your lip as you clamp onto his open hand. He easily hoists you up without so much as a grunt.

“Thanks,” you awkwardly mutter, crinkling your nose. As you wipe sweat away, the Mandalorian takes a few steps around the perimeter, assessing your current location. 

“We can rest here,” he finally says.

Brushing your clothes off, you lean against a jagged cliff-face. Removing your goggles, you rub your face with a heavy sigh. You lift your eyes to observe as the Mandalorian spins and sits against the cliff-face to your left. 

You glance around at the surrounding scenery, taking note at just how _high_ into the hills you have climbed. The jagged cliff-face you are resting against surrounds about a third of the environment, the rest open to a flat plateau, _thank stars_ , that are dotted with jutting rock formations.

Closing your eyes and leaning your head against the cliff wall, you enjoy the feeling of the crisp breeze that accelerates as it whips around the cliffs.

You decide to take this time to pull out what little food you brought with you and absentmindedly nibble, avoiding looking at the Mandalorian. You eat in silence, only the breeze whistling around the rocks for noise.

Maker, this is awkward.

Time to make it more awkward, you decide.

“So,” you swallow a bite of food and turn your body to face the Mandalorian, “you’re a bounty hunter?” You cringe at how dumb the question sounded aloud.

“Sometimes.” The Mandalorian glances over at you. “When I need to be.”

“Oh.” You take a drink of water from your canteen. The food is giving you ill-advised courage, so you jump straight into the door the Mandalorian opened.

“Huh,” you wipe water from your lips, "I bet you've traveled and seen a lot of the galaxy."

“Some of it.”

“Some of it?”

“Yes.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes at this. Your apprehension is completely replaced with irritation. “Do you _always_ talk so much?” you ask dryly, immediately biting your tongue.

You grimace at him. “I’m sorry-” You go still when you hear a low chuckle through his vocoder.

“Never mind,” you grumble, turning back away from him, letting the air between you grow quiet again.

As you eat, you can’t resist a few sneaky peeks over at the Mandalorian, a new-found curiosity building in your chest. You wonder how old he is or if he is even human. Wait, aren’t all Mandalorians human? You become so lost in your imaginations that the Mandalorian catches you staring.

“What?” he asks. This time, you are certain you hear a sprinkle of amusement in his voice.

You jerk away, face warming. Well, great, now you have to say something. You stand up and flash him a small smile. He stands along with you, still holding your gaze. Turning, you begin walking forward, deciding to take the opportunity to ask him one of your most pressing questions. 

“So, Mandalorian,” you kick a pebble and stick your hands in your pockets, “tell me what your- oh _**SHIT!**_ ”

You shriek as a Bateran leaps over jutting rocks and slams directly into the Mandalorian, sending him flying back several feet. He crashes onto the ground hard with an audible _thud_. His rifle flips end over end in the opposite direction.

“Get up, _get up!_ ” you scream at him, scrambling away from the Bateran.

“I,” the Mandalorian grunts as he lifts up off the ground, “ _…intend to!_ ”

The Bateran belts out a ground-trembling bellow, and you yelp, diving behind a rock formation. “Oh no, _oh no_ , I’m dead. _We’re dead!_ STARS, get UP!”

You have never felt your lack of weaponry quite as keenly as you do right now. You hear another sharp, vibrating growl and bursts of blaster fire. You clench your teeth tightly and force yourself to peer over the rocks.

Your eyes pop open in horror as the Bateran dodges blaster fire from the Mandalorian, sending him soaring into the air once again with a strong swipe of its claws.

_Holy hell!_

This time, the Mandalorian does not get up as swiftly as before. One hand clutching his chest, he points the blaster again at the creature.

It lowers down. Ready to charge.

You flicker your eyes back and forth from the Mandalorian to the Bateran. Mandalorian to the Bateran. Mandalorian to the Bateran.

To the left.

The rifle.

The dirt beneath your feet slides and gives away as you clamber across the plateau, leaving you stumbling and cursing as you struggle towards the rifle in a panic.

Taking the rifle in hand, you almost stumble to the ground at how _heavy_ this thing is. _Kriff,_ he carries this everywhere? You let out a cry as you grapple with the weapon, lifting it with a grunt and bracing it atop a boulder.

You hope you are pointing the right end at the creature.

You squint and aim, shaking with adrenaline as the Bateran charges the Mandalorian. The reverberation of its roar is enough to paralyze anyone on the spot.

You groan and shakily pull the trigger.

_**BOOM.** _

You howl as the blast sends you backwards, _hard_ , onto the ground. Rubble and rock slice through the air, and you shriek as you feel the flying shrapnel cut at your face and hands. You cough, choking on the dust filling the air and open your eyes to see a giant crater in the cliff-face above where you _thought_ you had been aiming.

“What the hell!” You hear the Mandalorian yell. “Are you crazy?!”

You turn your head enough to see the creature slowly begin to pick itself up off the ground, still disoriented from the explosion. You catch movement through the settling dust cloud; the Mandalorian launches a wire of some sort around the creature, trapping it.

The Mandalorian steps forward, the shine of a blade visible in his hand. You squeeze your eyes tightly and duck your head under your arms when the creature releases a howl followed by utter silence. This time, you appreciate the silence.

The stillness is broken by quick, heavy footfall moving towards you. The heat of the sun is replaced by a cool shadow across your back.

You glance up slowly to find the Mandalorian crouching next to you, a hand hesitating in the space between you.

“Are- are you… okay?” He leans forward, as if to check for injuries. You can hear him breathing heavily under the helmet from the exertion of the fight.

You nod, and slowly pull yourself up with a stiff moan. Crossing your legs under yourself, you exhale. The Mandalorian throws a light hand on your shoulder to help you steady before tearing his hand away as quickly as he had shot it out.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that question?” you grumble. You look his now-filthy armor over. You couldn’t tell if anything is injured under all of it.

He shakes his head. “I’m fine.”

“ _Stars,_ ” you blink over at the creature, still in shock, “I _hate_ this planet.” You turn back to him.

The Mandalorian remains frozen, staring at you.

You shift, now very uncomfortable with his heavy presence towering over you. “ _What?_ ” you ask.

“You-” he pauses and scans over at the gaping hole you created in the cliff-face- “…good job,” his gruff voice responds.

He stands up, his cape curling around his legs. He sticks a hand down towards you. “Come on.” 

With a wry smile, you take his hand and stand. 

You notice after the incident with the Bateran, the Mandalorian seems to have consciously slowed down his pace. Occasionally, he turns to peek back at you, pausing until you catch back up, before stalking forward again. The conversation is just as limited as it was before, though somewhere along the way, you find the atmosphere has shifted into something warmer, less intimidating. 

Or maybe you are just too tired to be apprehensive anymore.

Rubbing your arms up and down against the chill beginning to fill the desert’s evening air, you toss a scow at the Mandalorian when he turns to glance back at you again.

“I think we had better stop and rest here a few hours,” he says, taking the hint. “I’ll build a fire. Stay here. Don’t move.”

“Fantastic,” you grumble, rubbing your face. You look down at your hand and cringe at the dirt and grime coating it. Stars, you are so glad you haven’t seen yourself in a mirror lately.

“What’s the plan, Mando?”

The Mandalorian stops and faces your direction. “Once it’s dark enough-” he kneels to the ground, beginning to build the fire- “I’m going straight in and out.” He lifts his visor to stare directly at you. “Hopefully, without too much _issue._ ”

“I see,” you sit and pull your legs up tightly against your chest. “Well, have fun with that.” 

You hear what sounds like a short snort in response.

Not too long after, you are grateful for the warmth of the fire as the cold night air penetrates straight through the worn jacket you wear. You lean against the warmth, wishing you could wrap yourself with the flames like a blanket.

“I’ll keep watch,” the Mandalorian’s voice says from somewhere behind the fire. You lift your head and watch as he moves closer, golden light reflecting back against his armor. “You should eat and get some sleep.” His voice is low, tired, you think.

Your eyes flicker from the fire to your satchel. You are ashamed, _embarrassed_ , to admit that you only have enough food for one more meal. It must be saved for tomorrow’s trip back. Truth is you have not had more than one, maybe two, “meals” a day for several weeks now. So, you release a light sigh and lay down as close to the fire as you can without burning, back turned away from the Mandalorian. You place the satchel under your head as a makeshift pillow.

You hear him shift his weight as he seats himself somewhere on the other side of the fire.

“You haven’t eaten.” His modulated voice is low. A statement, not a question.

You open your eyes and stare out into the darkness. “No,” you reply softly. “I’ll- I’ll eat tomorrow,” you mumble, tucking your face into your satchel, wanting to disappear.

You hear the Mandalorian stand again, and you tense. His footsteps stop a few feet away from where you lay.

“Here.” You lift your head and look backwards at him. He kneels down, a rations bag outstretched. “You should eat.”

You blink. “Oh.” You sit back up and spin around on the dirt to face him. “Th- thanks.” 

He nods and shifts to sit back a few feet, giving you space. Emotion burns in the back of your throat, and you bite the inside of your cheek to distract yourself. 

“When’s the last time you’ve eaten?”

Your eyes shoot up to the Mandalorian. He is leaning against his rifle, his helmet inclined towards you. You feel searing emotion scald the back of your throat again, this time with even stronger intensity.

“An _actual_ meal.” His voice is gruff.

You turn away, eyes fluttering. You do not trust yourself to answer without making yourself cry.

And, Maker, you will _not_ cry in front the Mandalorian.

At your prolonged silence, you hear him make a noise and shift away.

You spend the next few minutes sitting with the Mandalorian in a calm reverie. He is resting back a bit from the fire, watching as the flames jump and dance. You notice the flames reflecting against the darkness of his visor, a fitting look, you think, for a warrior. You turn your gaze down, observing his rifle resting across his lap, ready at a moment’s notice to annihilate any potential threat. 

So, you let your mind wander again. You imagine what sort of expression might be gracing his face during a peaceful moment like this.

Finished eating, you shift to lean back on both arms, the change in position drawing his attention over to you. You flash him a small smile. “I can’t believe how quiet it gets out here,” you say, curling your legs to the side.

The Mandalorian tilts his head up, stars mirroring in his visor. “It’s… nice.” 

You let out a small chuckle. “I hate it.” 

He turns back to watch you, so you continue.

“I like the sound of noise,” you smile softly, “and the sound of voices. It means I am not… alone.” By verbalizing this, abruptly, a lifetime’s worth of voices erupts in your ears. 

A gentle, quiet voice that speaks wisdom.

A feminine, soft voice conveying comfort.

A giggly, happy squeal from a child.

A harsh, demanding bark of orders.

A rowdy, boisterous group chanting and singing. 

But just as abruptly they came, the voices are cut off.

Rapidly blinking, you smile gently into the distance. “I… love voices.” You tilt your hat up a bit to study the Mandalorian better. “Even if it’s just my own.” You flash an impish grin.

You hear a puff of air from his modulator. “I can believe that.” 

He is amused, you think. You try and look irritated, but a small smile erupts instead. You lean on your side, in the direction of where he sits. He begins shifting, fidgeting almost. You narrow your gaze. You barely know the Mandalorian, but you have studied him enough today to know fidgeting is not his usual style.

“What?” you throw out.

He makes a noise and shifts back. “How long have you been-” he tilts his helmet ever so slightly to the left- “… alone on Taek?”

You purse your lips and look away, glaring at the fire. "Six weeks. I was with a crew of smugglers.” You pause. “They... ditched me here.” You turn back to weakly smile at the Mandalorian. “I hope you don't want a reference."

The Mandalorian remains silent and motionless before you hear a puff through his modulator. You cringe inwardly, fearing the Mandalorian might be regretting his deal with you by this point. _Stars…_

“You should get some sleep.” He shifts to stand, rifle thrown over his arm. “I’ll keep watch.”

You let out a long breath and take back up your position against your satchel. You fall into an easy sleep knowing, for once, you have a pair of eyes watching out for you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW, so this chapter turned into a beast! Once I reached 10k words, I had to split it in two. Also, I’ve decided to shift my posting schedule to Saturday evenings. Find me on tumblr at wille-zarr for updates or to just connect! Again, thanks everyone for the amazing response to chapter one! Please be sure to comment here and on tumblr to let me know how you liked chapter two!


	3. I Do the Talking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated T for language; violence; angst
> 
> Guys, this chapter was a BEAST to write and edit, but I think it paid off! I’m so excited and nervous to hear the feedback!

_As you exit the dilapidated building for the final time, the thick, humid air envelopes your body. Your grin drifts into a soft smile when you spy the gleaming starship in the distance._

_Things are going to be good now, baby girl._

_A hand dusts the center of your back, guiding you forward._

_Things are going to be good now…_

_“Hey,”_ a deep voice echoes in the distance, reaching into your dream and brushing up against your subconsciousness. _“Time to get up.”_

Your dreamworld shifts, draining away, leaving behind in its wake a hollow, unfillable… _void._

“Hey,” you feel a light sensation press your shoulder, “time to go.”

_“Mmf,”_ you mumble, _“b- baby…”_ You roll onto your right side, stiffening when you press up against something cold and firm. Eyes bleary with sleep, you blink a few times, letting your eyes adjust to the low light.

“Oh,” you mutter, gazing upwards. “Hi.” 

The Mandalorian is crouched beside you, his hand pulling away from your shoulder. He angles his head to the left, and you are struck with the sudden realization that you have rolled right up against him. 

_Oh hell._

With a grunt, you jerk up into a sitting position and place a hand against your head. 

_Kriff,_ you didn’t know which was most responsible for the crappy way you currently feel: the rock mattress, the disturbing dream, or the disconcerting presence of a Mandalorian warrior. 

You hear him make a noise under his helmet as he shifts back. “It’s dark enough now.” He moves to stand, towering over you, and lifts his helmet to look up at the inky night sky. “We need to go.” 

Eyes lowering to your hands clenched tightly together in your lap, your lids twitch against the memory of your dream. Feeling grief clawing its way up, the burning sensation returns to the back of your throat, leaving you vulnerable to tears you refuse to relent to. So, you take a deep breath, mentally constructing a mask to wear, in hopes of shrouding the turmoil storming your heart.

“Okay,” you finally respond, the word scratchy in your throat. You clear your throat. Rising and brushing your clothes off, you bite the inside of your cheek to distract yourself from the dull ache in your chest. You peek over at the Mandalorian to discover him cautiously observing you.

“Everything,” he pauses, “good?” 

You incline your head. While his vocoder neutralizes much of his voice, you know you are not mistaken at the gentleness layered in his tone. You appreciate the kindness. Kindness is rare, after all. It gives you a sort of unexpected comfort to think he might care, even if just a little bit.

“Yeah.” You nod sharply, pulling a small, unwilling smile onto your face. “What?” You crinkle your nose. “Stars, do I look that bad?”

A puff of air through the vocoder is followed by an outreached hand. “Eat.”

You stare down at a ration pack in astonishment. “Oh.” You feel your face warm as you uneasily take it. Before you even have the chance to thank him, the Mandalorian twists on his heel, rapidly moving away.

“It’s not far from here,” you holler from behind, following your words with an irritated grunt. He is already several yards away and showing no indication of slowing down. 

_Darn it, Mando, this isn’t a foot race._

You rush forward, taking a bite of the ration pack as you struggle to swing your satchel over your head. Your arms become entangled, and you almost stumble over a rock in the process of freeing yourself when the Mandalorian spins to face you.

At your forward momentum, you barely avoid tripping into him. He crosses his arms and glares down at you, and your face warms again when it takes you another few, painful seconds to untangle yourself. 

Motionlessly, his blank visor observes you, remaining silent several breaths before speaking. “Listen,” he rests a hand on his waist, “from this point on, two things.” He shifts forward and raises a finger up. “One, keep quiet.” He raises a second finger. “Two, follow my directions.” He lets the hand fall back down against his holster. “Understood?”

You dumbly blink up at him. It ultimately occurs to you that you have no idea what the Mandalorian’s purpose is in finding Marek’s camp. For all you know, the Mandalorian wished to blow the joint up.

Not that you’d be sad if he _did._

Might be disappointed if he _didn’t._

_“Understood?”_ he tries again, a bit firmer.

“Well,” you raise an eyebrow and take another bite of the ration pack, “I’m not really good at either,” you speak slowly as you chew, “but I think I can _try.”_

The Mandalorian releases a small sigh, dropping his head down. “Just… come on.”

You let a small smile slip, biting back a response when you remember that would, _after all_ , break the first rule.

It does not take long, even under the blanket of the chilly darkness, to reach the ridge that overlooks Marek’s basecamp. Lost in the coating of night, the sprawling tent city is indistinguishable, but what does strike you is the twinkling, dancing lights of dozens of fires speckled all throughout the grounds. The faint tinkling of chimes carries with the wind from below. As you look out in delighted awe, the Mandalorian drops low to the ground, shimmying on his stomach to peer down below. He pulls a viewfinder from his toolbelt to observe the surrounding area.

“Well,” you hiss under your breath, brushing up against the Mandalorian as you crawl on your elbows to lay right near his left side, “there it is.” You glance out at the glimmering fires in the distance. “See? I upheld my end of the bargain.” You tilt your hat up and smirk.

The Mandalorian makes a noise and puts away his viewfinder. He turns his head to look directly at you, your face mere inches from his visor. 

_Yikes_ , too close. Too close.

You twist away, squirming a few feet back. The Mandalorian mirrors your motion, rolling back and leaning on his right arm. He grunts and stares at your belt. “You have no weapon.” He lifts to meet your eyes.

“No,” you place a hand where a blaster would rest against your thigh, “I’m afraid not.” You can’t help but scowl- this is a sore spot with you. “It’s halfway across the galaxy with my smuggler pals.” You release a dramatic sigh and grumble, “Ran off with my _clothes,_ too. Damn jerks.” 

Ignoring your lamentations, the Mandalorian reaches around his body to pull something from his belt. You are surprised; he holds a blaster out for you to grab. You stare at it blankly, uncertain how to act.

“Take it.” The Mandalorian’s tone is low. You look up at him then back down to the weapon. “You may need it.”

With a heavy sigh, you squeeze your fingers tightly around the handle and let the blaster drop against your leg. “I’m not the best shot.” You shrug. “But, uh-” you smile feebly- “thanks.”

“Mmf,” he sits up, “You did well enough with my rifle.”

A lopsided grin sprouts across your face. “I did-” you grin even wider- “didn’t I?”

The Mandalorian huffs. “Don’t get cocky.”

You don’t respond, just turn away, that self-satisfied smile still stretched tightly across your face. Tossing a glance over at the Mandalorian, you find him looking down at the ground as if considering something.

“What is it?” you prod, tone still light with amusement. Prompted by your words, the Mandalorian gently lowers himself back down to the ground beside you. He reaches across his body before turning around to face you again. You stare, confused, when he offers you a canvas pouch.

“Stay here. Don’t change positions.” He pauses. “But if something goes wrong-”

“Uhg-”

“You’ll need what’s in here to get back to town safely.” He holds the bag out expectantly. 

You release a groan and begrudgingly take it. “Fine...”

“If I’m not back by daybreak-” he inclines his head towards you- “you need to start back without me. Understood?”

You crinkle your nose. “Just… come back, okay?” You reach out and touch his arm. You stare up at the Mandalorian, unable to resist the urge to flash a teasing smirk at him. “After all, if I face another Bateran, _this-”_ you wave the blaster still in your hand- “hardly compares to _that.”_ You motion your blaster towards the rifle resting across his back.

The Mandalorian grunts and pushes your blaster-wielding arm away from him. “Careful where you point that thing.”

Beaming with amusement, you squeeze his arm and chuckle. He stills, staring down at your hand still clutching his arm. “One more thing-” he looks back up at you- “just in case.” He reaches into another pocket and pulls an object out. He grabs your hand and presses something cold and hard against your palm. You stare down, wide-eyed to discover a credit chip.

“Oh.”

“For transportation. It’s more than enough-” he stands- “to uphold my end of the deal.”

Stupidly staring down at the credit chip, you find yourself subdued by his actions. It might be impossible for you to search the Mandalorian’s eyes for sincerity, for meaning behind his limited words, but his actions told you all you needed to know. 

Gazing back up to speak, you find he is already swiftly moving away, leaving you alone on the ridge with only your blaster and anxiety for company.

You wish you can say you waited patiently, watchful eyes combing the area for any potential risks. Instead, the soft desert breeze and faint dinging of chimes, combined with your anxious exhaustion, lolls you into a tranquil reverie. You fall asleep against a cluster of rocks within the second hour. 

The worst part is you have a dream again, only this one isn’t shredded apart by memories. No, in this particular dream, you are wrapped tightly in a cloak, snowflakes catching in your eyelashes as they twirl down from puffy clouds littering the skies. It all looks just like your childhood home did, and your heart warms at the realization. Chuckling, you begin running after a little dark-headed boy when he throws a snowball in your direction. Curls bouncing as his tubby legs toddle over a frozen tree branch, he abruptly halts, spins, and launches himself into your arms, tightly squeezing as you laugh. Tickling him down to the snow-coated ground, the little boy launches into a giggling fit, squirming against your hold. A freezing breeze stings your cheek as the dream fades away, leaving you with a different kind of ache in your heart.

Stars… you miss those little giggles.

This ache is quickly trailed by a shriek when you realize the stinging breeze in your dream is the result of a creepy desert bug biting your cheek. 

_“BLAST!”_ you curse, scurrying up off the sand and reprimanding yourself for falling asleep. That little bug could have easily been another Bateran, ready to make you breakfast. 

_Kriffin’ hells,_ you stink at this kind of stuff. 

Grumbling under your breath, you squint your eyes, sweeping the tent city below for any sign of change or disturbance. 

Nothing.

The landscape is still dotted with flickering fires, though the morning sunlight is leisurely beginning to peek over the hills, draping the sand with a soft orange glow.

Wait. 

Your eyes blast open. 

_Oh HELL._

Heart pounding in your chest, the Mandalorian’s instructions resurface in your head. 

_Leave at sunrise._

Well, the sun is rising, and one certain shiny Mandalorian is still unaccounted for. 

_Blasted Corellian hells!_

Burying your face in the palm of your left hand, you release a deep groan and pull your hat down low with the right. 

Maker, where _is_ he? _Stars!_ You didn’t _actually_ think he wouldn’t make it back. 

And you _really_ don’t want to hike back alone…

Pacing back and forth, you continue muttering these anxious thoughts under your breath for another good hour, not even pausing to eat when your body begins screaming, begging for food. But, with every increase in height that the sun rises over the hills, the twist in your heart intensifies. 

You lament the departure of the nighttime coolness and chilly breezes from the evening before. Now, the heat is densely draped in the air, unmoving and still. _“Blast,”_ you inwardly groan, _“today is going to be torturously hot.”_ You wipe away sweat, eyes glued to the tents and tarps below. It is now fully daylight outside, giving you an undiluted view of the sprawling canopies below. It looks unaltered from your memory of the place.

There are several large, looming tents set up around the center of Marek’s camp. They are completely enclosed, interiors hidden from prying eyes such as your own. Canopies and tarps make up the rest of the campsite, dozens of smoking firepits spattered around them. In true spectacular fashion, between each canopy, tent, and tarp hung ropes littered with hundreds of bright, richly colored flags, banners, and crystal-coated windchimes. These would, on any other day, flit and dance upon every breeze that twisted through the area.

You wonder which tent the Mandalorian croaked in.

With a pathetic moan, you flop down to the ground, pulling your knees up to your chin. It’s been daylight for a good solid hour now. The Mandalorian gave you two instructions: stay quiet and follow all of his directions. So, you _should_ leave.

You stay.

Vigorously shaking your head, you let out a growl. _Damn,_ you are being stupid. You have an intensely bad track record when it comes to decision-making, and yet here you are again, following that pattern like a brainless krayt dragon. It didn’t matter if the Mandalorian is dead or alive. You now have everything you need to leave this forsaken, horrific, _miserable_ planet. So, you jump up with renewed determination, spinning on your heel, prepared to march into the desert, back to town, and _hell,_ leave.

One step forward, a pang in your heart forces your eyes towards the camp behind you one last time.

“Well, I enjoyed teasing you, Mando,” you mumble under your breath. Eyes fluttering with emotion, you release a light sigh. “I… hope you’re okay.”

Just another person lost to the galaxy.

Keep moving.

One final shake of your head, you squeeze your fingers tightly around the gifted blaster, and step off into the vast desert before you.

Oh. Oh wait.

You squint against the blinding sun’s rays. A glint- a glint of metal- on a figure.

“Mando…” you breathe. “Oh, _kriff!_ Mando!” 

You take off, flying towards him with gleeful laughter on your lips. You hardly care when you stumble over the slipping sand and rocks that litter the landscape. _“Damn!”_ you pant as you move closer, “I thought they bumped you off!” 

You are near enough to see the Mandalorian clearly now. He has stopped walking at this point, frozen, observing you race towards him with a tilt of his head. His left hand clutches his rifle, resting the end of it against the ground. Leaning his weight against it and placing a hand on his waist, he remains unmoving until you are within feet of him.

“Stars!” you giggle, sliding to a stop in front of him. You push your hat off your forehead so you can stare up directly into his visor. “Figured Marek went crazy on you!” With an impish flash of a smile, you place your hands on your hips.

The Mandalorian grunts, shifting his weight off the rifle. “You-” he slings the weapon across his arms- “didn’t follow my directions.”

You blink innocently. “Directions?” 

He makes a faint noise, barely audible through the vocoder. With a shake of his helmet, the Mandalorian motions you to follow before stalking forward. You let out a small chuckle and shift to walk behind him.

“Well,” you chirp, “I suppose you got what you came for?”

“Yes.” He sounds exhausted.

“Oh, okay.” You bite back the next obvious question. He wouldn’t tell you anyway, you’re sure. “Good, that’s… good then.”

He makes a small noise. “Keep up.” His voice is sharp and low.

Your face twists into a scowl, but you remain quiet. You don’t think he’d appreciate being antagonized in his current mood.

“You’re sure grumpy for a man who accomplished what he came for,” you grumble under your breath, low enough to where he can’t hear.

“You’re perky for someone who kept watch all night,” he rasps, continuing to walk forward.

You blink. “ _Damn_ , you heard that?” You jog to position yourself beside him, and he slows his pace so that you can keep stride. You gawk up at him as he continues treading forward. “I _might_ have taken a nap.” You raise your hand up, fingers positioned closely together. “A _small_ one.”

He suddenly hisses, jumping into a defensive stance. _“Quiet.”_ He places a heavy hand on your shoulder. _“Down.”_

You are so startled by his action that you obey without question. “Wha-” 

_“Quiet,”_ he hisses again, shoving you towards a boulder. Crawling and crouching behind it, you twist your head around, searching for whatever has the Mandalorian alarmed. “Head _down.”_ A firm grip on your head forces you into submission, and you bite back a retort, irritated by your inability to see. 

The Mandalorian positions his body right up against yours, crouching behind the boulder with his rifle at the ready. You glance up and watch as he slowly lifts his head over the rock formation and grunts. 

“Armed guards.” 

You let a small moan escape your lips. You remain frozen, afraid to even breathe, and tighten your grip around your borrowed blaster. Peaking one eye open, you glance out at the desert expanse spread out behind you. 

“Uhhhhh…” Your eyes widen, and you slap the Mandalorian hard on his leg. _“Look.”_

He spins around, and you point at the rapidly approaching speeder. 

“Fantastic!” you groan. “Just fantastic!” 

The Mandalorian leaps into an offensive pose, but your hand shoots out to latch onto his arm and stop him. “No, _wait,”_ you hiss, “I- I can talk us out of this.” You bite your lip, eyeing the speeder with dread. “They- uh- Marek _loves_ me!” 

The Mandalorian stares at you blankly. 

_“Really!”_ You chuckle awkwardly, not even convincing yourself. 

“I do the talking.” He taps his fingers rapidly against the rifle. “You keep quiet.” 

“But-” 

“No.” 

By this point, the speeder is almost upon you. You fly to your feet, pulling out a nervous grin to display across your face. The Mandalorian is slower to move, but he eventually emulates your action. You enthusiastically wave at the speeder like it contains the best of old friends. 

_“Maker,_ why hello there, boys!” You laugh, utterly ignoring the Mandalorian’s instructions. The speeder stops several yards away, and you begin walking towards it. You hear the Mandalorian release a frustrated grunt from behind you, but he follows along, no doubt _extremely_ annoyed. 

“Oh, it _is_ you.” The grizzled-looking man in the passenger seat turns to the driver of the speeder. “ _Told_ you it was her.” 

“What are you doing here?” The driver, a young human male, raises a suspicious eyebrow. He turns his gaze. “And with a _Mandalorian?”_

“Oh,” you chirp. “Uhh... um... We’re here for work!” You beam a bright smile at the driver, leaning a hand against the side of the speeder. 

“Hmm.” The grizzled man chuckles. “But didn’t you storm out last time, swearing you’d never come back?” 

“Uhh…” You blink stupidly. The Mandalorian hasn’t shifted an inch since you began talking, but you feel him tense beside you. _Stars_ , he must think you’re a real genuine _idiot_ right about now. 

“Well, we’re desperate for work,” you finally shoot off, “desperate enough to lower our standards.” 

At that, both men burst into laughter. “Oh, Lenec, we _have_ to bring her in,” the older man says between laughs. “This is going to be hilarious.” He waves a hand towards the back of the speeder. “Get in, kid. Bring your _friend,_ too.” 

You toss a terrified look up at the Mandalorian, but he makes no motion to move. “Uhh…” You hesitate, awaiting his silent instructions. Abruptly, he drops his head and pushes you towards the speeder. 

“Get in, _kid,”_ he growls at you through his vocoder. You gulp. 

_Bantha poodoo._

The journey down into Marek’s camp takes only a short couple of minutes. The driver and passenger make no attempt to converse with either of you again, only speaking and arguing with each other about frivolous stuff you had no care for. The Mandalorian, on the other hand, tightly grips your arm with gloved fingers and hisses instructions into your ear. “This time, follow _my_ lead.” He is barely audible over the air rushing past the moving speeder. 

“Okay…” you hesitate, “I will.” 

Abruptly, your stomach lurches forward when the speeder pulls to a sharp halt in front of a shaded area covered with a tarp. 

“Marek!” The driver shouts, leaping over the speeder’s doors. “Look what we found crawling through the desert!” 

Your eyes immediately shoot to the chair sitting at the head of a long table located under the tarp and the large, imposing figure resting upon it. 

“My girl!” Marek’s unmistakable booming, boisterous laugh reaches your ears. 

Time to put on a show. 

You grin brightly, waving at Marek as he motions you quickly to him, the crystals and gems woven into his brightly colored clothing jingling as he shakes with laughter. You stop when you reach Marek’s chair, but he gestures you even nearer. You grimace, kneeling beside his chair as he places a heavy palm atop your head. “My girl, I thought you left me for good.” Marek flashes you a mocking pout. “Broke my poor, old heart. I’ve been worried about you.” 

Your lips part, but you don’t respond, uncertain if you should disobey the Mandalorian’s instructions again and speak. You glance over in the Mandalorian’s direction to find him standing a few yards away, staring directly at you. He nods ever so slightly. 

“Oh now,” Marek pulls away, leaning back in the chair and crossing his arms over his rounded belly. “Nothing to say?” He swipes his long, stringy hair aside and sighs. “You had plenty to say when you left us.” He raises a questioning eyebrow and chuckles, the sound deep and rich. 

“Well…” you reply, standing up from the kneeling position, “that was a long time ago. My standards have shifted.” 

Marek and his men burst into laughter, and you smile weakly, inwardly cringing and throwing the Mandalorian a begging glance. 

_Kriff, help me here._

“Such a compliment!” Marek grunts as he stands, patting you on the shoulder as he walks past. “I’m flattered, girl.” 

“We want to inquire after any available work.” The Mandalorian takes the lead. “There aren’t many opportunities on Taek, but the girl told me about you.” 

“Hmm,” Marek’s smile drops, eyeing the Mandalorian cautiously. “We don’t ever see Mandalorians here.” His gaze shifts from you back to the Mandalorian. “What is a warrior such as yourself doing on Taek?” 

“Looking for work,” he responds as if it should be obvious by now. He sounds so calm to you when he speaks; his posture relaxed. You are beginning to understand yet another added benefit to the helm- no need to master a sabacc face like you do. 

Thankfully, you have an _excellent_ sabacc face. You pull a pointed look out of your arsenal, eyes glaring over at Marek. “Just be sure and _pay_ us this time.” You throw a hand on your hip and tilt your hat up with the other. “That would be _preferable.”_

“Pay? Hmm.” Marek’s eyes twinkle as he laughs again, though less genuine to your ears this time. 

_Stars, he isn’t buying this, is he?_

Marek crosses his arms behind his back and begins leisurely walking away from you both, the _clink, clink_ of the bright crystals woven in his clothing the only noise you hear. Your breathing catches, awaiting Marek’s verdict. 

“Big talk coming from the galaxy’s _best mechanic.”_ Marek spins and faces you and the Mandalorian with a self-satisfied expression. 

_Blasted seven hells, he did not just-_

Taunting you. 

Your face twists, warming when you hear snorts and chuckles coming from around the room. 

_“Excuse me-”_ you growl through your teeth, stalking forward. “That explosion was NOT MY FAULT.” 

“Tell that to Jonet.” Marek clucks his tongue. “Poor man lost a finger.” 

“That was HIS FAULT.” You fling your arms out. Oh, you **are** raging now. The room erupts into laughter again, and your face could not feel any hotter. A gloved hand wraps itself around your shoulder. You glare behind to find the Mandalorian shaking his head at you. 

“Blast,” you growl, crossing your arms tightly. 

“Marek!” A new voice cuts through the laughter. Wiping away tears, Marek sighs and nods in the direction of a Rodian running up to him. 

“What are you interrupting our fun for?” Marek chuckles, leaning back into his chair at the table. 

“We were running maintenance on the computers-” the Rodian hands a holopad to Marek- “discovered someone accessed the system last night and downloaded these files.” 

Oh. 

_Oh._

Oh Maker. 

“Well.” Pause. Marek slowly raises his head, smiling directly at the Mandalorian. “How about that?” 

It happens at once. 

You shriek as a hand shoots out and wraps around your neck, launching you to the ground, _hard._ You squirm, fumbling for the blaster off your belt, when you are ripped back up to your feet by one of Marek’s men. Instinctively, you go to strike at him, but he spins you around and pins your arms behind your back. You open your mouth to shout expletives when your breathing catches, the cold metal of a blaster pressing deeply into your throat. 

Your eyes come into focus. You see the Mandalorian nearby, motionless, rifle pointed directly at Marek. 

“Mandalorian!” Marek clucks his tongue, falling back against his chair. “I hate this. Really.” 

You shiver in abject fright as the surrounding area falls into a piercing silence. You watch as Marek’s men encroach along the edges of the tarp covering, all with blasters trained on the Mandalorian. 

The Mandalorian’s gaze never once leaves Marek. One pull, and Marek is dead. 

Along with you. 

“I _like_ this girl. She makes me laugh.” Marek sighs deeply, motioning in your direction. The blaster digs deeper into your throat, drawing a startled bark from you. “But I think you do too.” Marek leans forward, chuckling. “So, lower your weapon, or she’ll be _eradicated.”_

The final word rings in your ears. 

_Pfassk!_ Rage grows hot in your belly as you grit your teeth tightly. 

_Damn it!_ Damn _it!_ The hell is Marek thinking? _Bloody smuggler kung! Of-kriffing-course_ the bounty hunter won’t surrender! _His_ life is on the line; he will save _himself_ first and foremost. 

Damn! _Hell!_ In fact, killing you would do the Mando a favor! Get you out of his hair, if he even _has_ hair under that kriffin’ helm. You swallow hard against your fury, wishing to vaporize the entire building to the ground with everyone in it. If you are about to die, you choose to die raging. 

The blaster pushes harder into your throat, pulling an animalistic cry from your throat. _“Dirty, sleemo!”_ you rasp against the barrel. 

“Stop.” The gravelly voice of the Mandalorian cuts the room. “Wait.” 

Your mouth drops open, utterly stunned, as the Mandalorian breaks his defensive position. He lets go of the weapon in his hold, slowly twisting his head around to make a quick assessment of the danger surrounding him. He pauses when he finds you. Your legs quiver with both shock and relief, eyes daring not leave the Mandalorian as you feel the blaster gradually pull away from your throat. 

Marek shatters the tense air with a resounding belly-laugh. “Wrong choice-” he grins- “but admirable, nonetheless.” 

At that, with a sharp grunt, you tug hard against the steely grip pinning your arms behind your back. 

“Oh, let our capricious friend loose.” Marek sighs, dragging his fingers lazily along the crystals and gems embedded in his cloak. “She isn’t going anywhere.” 

You snarl and pull out of the loosened grip. “Eat Bantha shit, Marek!” 

Marek and his smugglers burst into loud, roaring laughter. The smuggler that had you pinned pats you on the back, and you swat his hand away, prompting a new round of rambunctious roaring. 

Irritation and furor warm your face as you turn and run straight for the Mandalorian. He thrusts a gloved hand out in your direction, and you grasp onto it firmly as you stumble into him. He shoves you harshly behind him. Body trembling, you press tightly against his armored back. 

_Almighty stars,_ now you are both going to die. Inhaling sharply, you lean your head firmly against the space between the Mandalorian’s shoulders. 

The Mandalorian tilts his head back slightly in your direction. "Duck down," he growls, so low it’s barely audible. 

"Huh?" you sputter. 

_"Now."_ His shove launches you to the ground just as a burst of bright light and an ear-splitting explosion reverberates in the air. You lay sprawled on the ground, disoriented and ears ringing, when gloved hands wrap around your waist and swoop you to your feet. His grip finds your own, and you hold on for dear life as the Mandalorian yanks you away, still unable to see or hear a thing from the explosion. 

You groan deeply, blinking against the bleariness coating your vision. _“Stars,_ warning…. wo-would have… b-been nice.” 

“I _did,”_ he grunts, pulling you along, out from underneath the canopy and into the bright, sun-dripped yard of the encampment. 

Your vision must clear about the same time as the smugglers- a blaster bolt shoots past your right ear, peeling a shriek from your lips. The Mandalorian releases your hand, spinning around on his heel, and angles his rifle directly at the incoming rush of enemies. You have no time to choose a reaction when a deep, resounding blast from the rifle incinerates the smugglers leading the pack. 

_“Maker!”_ you yelp, covering your ears. 

The others are less eager to follow after that. 

“Get to that speeder.” The Mandalorian’s calm voice cuts through the chaos. “Go.” 

Your eyes dart to the left, spying an unattended speeder bike only yards away. 

Hell yeah. 

Oh, this you can handle. “On it!” Ducking low as you run, you reach the speeder within seconds and throw yourself astride it. 

“Kriff!” you yell, switching the bike on. It roars to life. The shared blaster fire continues behind you as you shift the bike’s gear forward. “Mando!” you scream. “Get over here!” 

As soon as you feel a hand slide around your waist, you blast the speeder out of the yard and into the vast scape of desert. 

“Hell!” the Mandalorian barks, his arm tightening around you. “You could have waited-” he fires a few blasts- “…until I was all the way _seated_ first!” 

“Sorry!” you shout back, lowering your goggles with one hand and increasing your speed with the other. You can hardly hear him over the noise of the rushing wind. You steal a glance behind you. Groaning in anguish, you spy three, maybe four speeders in hot pursuit. 

“Swing around to the right.” More shots fire. _“No wait,_ watch for that boulder!” 

“I have _eyes,_ Mando!” you bark. 

“Use them!” 

“Let _me_ drive, please!” 

_“Hell!”_ he growls. 

A thunderous explosion rumbling from behind, you gently slant you head back to discover the smoking ruins of a speeder bike. “Good shot!” you laugh. 

“Watch-” his firm hand tightens around your waist- “where you’re _going!”_

“Maker,” you say through clenched teeth, easing past a rock formation, “just what I need right now.” You increase the speed to full throttle, turning the speeder in the direction of Taek’s desert canyons. “A backseat Mando giving orders.” 

In your peripheral vision, you catch movement. You turn, spying that one of the speeders has moved alongside you. “Mando!” you yelp, but he is occupied with return fire from the speeder bikes swooping in from the opposite direction. 

Well. Time to put your old stunt maneuvers to the test. 

“Hold on tight!” You slam the steering to the right at high speed, jerking the bike 180 degrees into a full spin. You barely hang on, much less the Mandalorian holding onto you for dear life. 

_“What are you-!”_ His words fall off. The bikes once behind you are now very much front and center, slamming on their own steering to adjust to your maneuver. The Mandalorian takes a clean shot at one, blowing the bike sideways into flames. Two down, two to go. Blowing past the wreckage, you increase the speed full throttle again, heading straight for the canyons. 

“You can’t go full speed through there.” The Mandalorian rasps in your ear, his voice higher than its typically low pitch. “Slow down!” 

You release a puff of air, shaking your head. “We have to lose them.” 

“The only thing we’ll lose-” he yelps as you jerk the steering- “are our _lives.”_

“Don’t make me toss you off!” you shout. “I’d go even faster without you weighing me down.” 

_“Dini'la dinii!”_

Unsympathetic to his plight, you continue on your route. The bike blasts through the opening into the narrowing canyon, littered with hundreds of jutting rocks and pillars. Barely slowing speed, you steer the bike through the twisting pathways, going strictly off instinct. The Mandalorian finally refrains from barking orders, no doubt unwilling to risk breaking your focus. A smile twitches at the edge of your lips when you hear him make strangling noises and tightens his grip every time you cut a bit too close to a boulder. 

Sure enough, the pursuers are forced to decrease their speed down enough that you pull away, spreading a good distance between you and the pursuers until you can no longer see nor hear their speeder bikes. 

“Stars!” You finally begin thinking clearly again once your bike shoots out the other end of the canyon and into the open expanse of desert. “That was-” 

“-insane.” The Mandalorian finishes with a groan. 

You burst into jubilant laughter. “We’re alive!” 

You hear a heavy sigh against your neck. Giggling, you nudge the Mandalorian with an elbow. He grunts, body tensing against you. “Where the _hell_ did you learn to drive like that?” 

Grinning, you twist your head back towards him. “Spent some time on Tatooine as a teenager.” You turn back around, beaming. “Fell hard for a speeder bike racer. Pretended I cared about racing and mechanics so I could spend time with him.” 

You think you hear him huff against the wind. “And?” 

“Turns out,” you chuckle, “I liked racing more than I liked him. Worked out well when he ditched me and Tatooine for the inner rim professional circuits.” 

You hear him snort through his vocoder, softening the grip on your waist. “I see…” 

This time, with a speeder, the trip back to town takes a fraction of the time that the hike had required. You lurch forward, pulling to a halting stop in the courtyard you have called home for far too long. You throw a leg over the bike, yanking the goggles off of your eyes. 

_“I’ll_ drive now,” the Mandalorian grumbles as you walk away. You ignore him, stalking straight for the decking you slept underneath and ripping the loosened board off. You stare a few seconds into the opening, mentally combing through the collection of junk you’d horded under the staircase, just in case any of it might come in use for you. You scrunch your eyebrows. 

_You only wanted to take one thing, and one thing only._

Shimmying inside, you crawl back to the furthest corner to collect a dusty, worn guitar. You stick it outside the opening in the decking, startled when a gloved hand shoots out to help you stand. Your eyes follow the metal upwards, meeting the expressionless helm towering down at you. 

“Um, thanks.” You take his hand, rise, and wrap the guitar strap over your head, letting the instrument rest against your back. You flash the Mandalorian a weary smile. “Let’s get out of here.” You look back at the staircase one last time, strangely emotional to be leaving the comfort of your little abode for the uncomfortable unknown of the Mandalorian’s ship. But with every step you take, the realization slowly sets in. 

You are leaving Taek. 

You would be thrilled if you weren’t suddenly dealing with the anxiety of sharing a ship with a blasted Mandalorian warrior. 

As you step towards the speeder bike, you stare up, observing the sun has already set beyond the horizon, sending the sky into an inky black. 

Stars, you are exhausted.

“We need to hurry.” 

You glance up at the Mandalorian, who is now resting behind the steering of the bike, his arms relaxed atop the bike handles. Tired and a bit hesitant, you toss your leg over the seat, sliding forward against the Mandalorian. You wrap your arms securely around the middle of his armored torso. With a muffled grunt, he flips the bike in gear, guiding it carefully through the alleys you will never miss.

As you move through the twisting pathways, a familiar building in the distance draws your attention, and a thought occurs to you. “Wait!” you whisper, lightly touching the Mandalorian’s shoulder. He tenses against your touch, slowing the speeder, but you have already slid off the bike, running towards the _Tiny Womp Rat_ Cantina. 

You slip around the side of the building and rap against the side door. You jump back with a yelp when it flies open, an angry cook standing in the doorway shoving a knife at you.

“Whoa there!” you shout, throwing your hands up. “It’s just me!” Out of the corner of your eye, you see the Mandalorian jump forward protectively, but you throw an arm out to stop him. “Wait, it’s okay!” You turn back towards the cook. “I need to see-”

“Kid?”

A wide smile spreads across your face as your bartender friend, Irea, pushes past the cook.

“How’d it go, kid?” Irea’s voice is casual, but you read relief in his eyes. “You shouldn’t be out after dark.”

Your heart warms at the care this kind man has unceasingly showed you. “It’s okay. We did it.” You nod over at the Mandalorian. Irea turns his eyes in the direction you indicated, and they widen when they take in the Mandalorian.

You grab onto the Irea’s hand, pulling his attention back to you. “I’ve come to tell you goodbye.” You smile even bigger. “I’m _finally_ leaving this rock.” 

Irea lets out a grunt, eyes shifting back and forth a few times between you and the Mandalorian. Shaking your head, you laugh and stand up on your tiptoes, throwing your arms around Irea’s shoulders. You can tell the sudden act of affection startles him, but he does not pull away. Rather, he gently pats you on the back. You pull away. “Thank you, sir, for everything. I will always remember you.”

That hard-earned smile creases his face. “You too, kid.” He pats your shoulder, a bit awkwardly. “Now get on out of here.” 

Riding a speeder bike, it is only a short distance to reach the starport, and your eyes widen in awe at first sight of the Mandalorian’s ship. Looming over your head, you blink up in amazement at the sheer size of it. It’s bigger than you could have ever hoped for. But then again, the _last_ starship you resided on was so miserably small and run-down, just about _anything_ would be large and fantastic in comparison.

“Wow, stylish!” You place a hand on top of your head and lean back with a low whistle. “So, this is yours?” It is most _certainly_ nicer than the smuggler’s ship you previously resided on. The ramp to the ship lowers, and the Mandalorian strides forward onto it. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you mumble. You move to follow him when you hesitantly pause at the foot of the ramp. Nearing the top, the Mandalorian notices your hesitation and spins around to face you.

“Is… something the matter?” He rests a hand on his holster, impatiently tapping fingers against it. “We need to hurry.”

Flexing your fingers, you stare down at your feet. You might as well just ask it. “I’ll- uh… I will have my own…”

He tilts his head down at you, angling it to the side.

You take a deep breath and shake your head. “I’ll have my own bed, right?”

You hear his breath wheeze through the modulator. “Wha-” He nods his head vigorously. “Y-yes- of _course.”_

“Oh.” You blink, eyes flashing up at the Mandalorian. “Okay… ah, good.” Shrugging, you begin lumbering up the ramp. “Had to share one with a Bothan on the smuggler’s ship.” You crinkle your nose, pausing to stand beside the Mandalorian. _“Maker,_ they have a stench.”

You stare up into his dark visor, and he returns the gaze, remaining completely motionless. 

“Well, are you going to just stand there-” a smile teases the corner of your lips- “or are you going to show me around?”

With a grunt, the Mandalorian swoops past you, leaving you trailing behind with an impish smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! I am so excited to start the next phase of the story... I think you’ll like the direction I am taking these characters! Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist on tumblr. Chapter four should be easier to write. Expect it in about a week or two. I am trying to upload as high a quality story as possible without making everyone wait an eternity, haha! Please leave a comment here or on tumblr (@wille-zarr) letting me know what you think!


	4. Got a Fresher in This Place?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rated T for language; angst
> 
> Your first day on the Razor Crest leads to some bewildering discoveries

For a man dressed in hefty armor, the Mandalorian sure can haul ass. 

You might would be impressed by this apparent physical dexterity, except that he only ever seems to haul ass to get _away_ from you. 

The Mandalorian warrior is currently hauling said- _ass_ up a ladder, scrambling to escape into what you imagine is the cockpit of the starship.

“Mando!” you call after him, stumbling forward into the dimly-lit main room of his ship. He ignores your call, and you watch, shaking your head, as his boots disappear into the space above.

With a blithe sigh, you slip your guitar over your head. You are leaning it gently against the floor along with your satchel when, with a weighty _thud_ , the ramp door strikes shut behind you. You yelp, careening forward with a jump. The floor begins quivering under your feet as you feel the ship surge to life around you.

Well, unless the Mando has an escape pod, too late to back out now. 

Regaining your balance by grabbing ahold of a chair, you squint around at the dim, cavernous space you are now entombed inside, trying to get your eyes to adjust to the low lighting. You purse your lips, deciding this is as good a time as any to snoop -er, you mean…- _observe_ the space.

After all, this _is_ now _your_ temporary home, as well. You think you have the right to do a little _investigation_. You know, to make sure there aren’t any dead bodies hidden away.

Plus, since he certainly won’t be telling anything, you’re really itching to discover what the abode of a Mandalorian warrior has to say about him.

You stand in the center of the room, legs positioned apart, and push your hat upwards to stare grimly around at the room encircling you.

What can you say? 

The space is much like its owner: efficient, organized, but blasted _frigid_. 

Snorting, you lumber forward, pressing your arms tightly against your body to fight the chill hanging thick in the air. _“Maker,”_ you sigh, realizing how actual little space there is onboard. “It looked…-” you lower your brows and sigh again- “… _bigger_ from the outside.”

With a gasp, you slap your hand over your mouth when you notice the latrine… right in the main room.

Oh.

Oh, _hell_ no.

You groan, inspecting the door that opens and closes across the alcove containing the latrine, “this… should be interesting.”

But hey, it’s still more private than the smuggler’s starship, you remind yourself. _They_ just used a kriffin’ curtain… which they didn’t pull half the time.

You shiver at the memory, the visuals permanently etched in your brain.

Kriffin’ hells.

The people you surround yourself with.

Shaking your head with reluctant acceptance, you turn away, taking in one final perspective of the space. 

Sure, while the Mando’s starship _is_ a bit gloomy, cold, and not _quite_ as private as you had hoped for, it’s _eons_ better than the last hellhole you called home. 

Satisfied with this verdict, you nod sharply, turning your attention back towards the ladder ascending up to where the Mandalorian hides. Puffing air out of your nose, you unwrap your scarf from your neck, letting it drag and drop to the ground behind you as you hastily cross the room, freezing in front of the ladder rising upwards. 

“Hey, Mando,” you call up, resting your chin on one of the ladder rungs, “can I come an- _AHRG!”_

Lurching forward, the ship’s sudden burst of movement, most likely into hyperspace, sends you flailing face-first into the ladder. “Shit!” you curse, rubbing your face as you untangle from the ladder rungs. “A little warning next time, perhaps?” you grumble, clambering up the rungs. 

Poking your head up into the open cockpit, you glance around, wide-eyed, uncertain if you should venture in further without asking permission first. You might be brash, but you aren’t stupid. If you and the Mandalorian are to share this space, you know you must respect his boundaries. 

Besides, you _really_ want to avoid being jettisoned into space for being annoying. 

Your heart beats faster, a grin stretching across your face, when your eyes focus in on the blue streaks of dancing, almost sparkling, light through the windows of the cockpit. _Damn,_ you had forgotten how much you adore traveling through hyperspace. Your awe only increases as the blue light interweaves with the multi-colored display lights stretched all across the control panels of the dashboard. The twinkling mixture of twirling light wraps itself around the source of your caution, reflecting back against his metallic armor- one certain, unsociable Mandalorian.

You clear your throat to announce your presence, though you very much suspect he is well aware you are there. 

“Um, hi,” you chirp, splaying your arms across the floor of the cockpit, waiting for permission to climb your feet up off the ladder below. The Mandalorian continues fiddling with the controls before him, making no noise to acknowledge your presence.

You lean your elbow against the cockpit floor, resting your face in the palm of your hand. “Nice ship-” you raise an eyebrow, letting your feet dangle off of the ladder, swinging them in the open air of the level below- “so how- aeEEK-” you squeak, smacking both hands hard against the floor when you almost slip and fall back into the lower level of the ship. Grunting, you flail your feet to find a ladder rung. Once you get your footing back, you glance up.

Your face bursts into warmth when you discover the Mandalorian has chosen the moment of your distress to grace you with his expressionless stare.

You lower your eyes, feeling pangs in your chest as you struggle to get your embarrassment under control. You clear your throat with a few coughs. “Um, c-can I _please_ come up?” you mumble, grateful your hat-brim provides you some sort of shield against his judging glare. As soon as your eyes connect with his visor, he grunts with a sharp dip of his helmet, and swings his seat away to face the ship’s control panels again.

“So…” A hard frown drops on your lips. “I’ll take that as an affirmative… _yes?”_

Silence.

Well, okay then.

You grumble under your breath as you yank yourself up and into the cockpit. You deliberately force your body forward, casually sagging back into the co-pilot’s seat, hoping you appear more placid and self-assured than you are in reality.

You are grateful that the co-pilot’s seat is positioned a few feet back behind the Mandalorian. It gives you the added advantage of observing him without notice, while he, in return, cannot stare at _you._ Crossing your legs, you lean back, deep into the cushioned seat. Biting back a discomforted grimace, you choose to remain silent. 

But, then, a curious question tickles at the back of your mind. 

You decide to play a game to test your hypothesis. Without you prompting him first, you wish to see how long it will take the Mandalorian to speak to you.

You let your hand drag across the illuminated display lights to your right, kicking your crossed leg up and down, lackadaisical as you wait. The Mandalorian goes on fiddling with controls, oblivious to what you are scheming. Sighing inwardly as the teal streaks slide by the glass, you wonder if the Mandalorian understands what a privilege it is to have this- this _freedom_ \- all to himself. 

You remain this way no more than a minute or two, but it’s long enough. You think you might _burst._ This…this silence is _excruciatingly painful._

Stars, you _despise_ silence!

 _“Put me out of my misery, Mando!”_ you inwardly beg.

Suddenly, a soft, repetitive noise grabs at your attention, yanking your line of sight back over to the pilot’s seat. Tapping his fingers rapidly against the arm of his chair, you watch as the Mandalorian leans his helmet down to stare at his boots. A light sigh barely reaches your ears.

Biting the inside of your cheek to suppress your reaction, you turn away and stare out the window at the lights streaking by, pretending it has your full attention.

You hear the squeak of leather as the pilot’s seat twists around, so you lift your head, tossing a glance in that direction. You find the Mandalorian studying you, motionless and silent, leaning forward as if anticipating a remark from you. But still yet unwilling to give up your game and to be the first one to speak, you raise an eyebrow, keeping your mouth shut.

You stare each other down, neither one speaking, for a few long, arduous seconds. 

Finally, with a small noise, he reels away, pretending to fiddle on a control panel with some sort of tool.

Trying, and _failing,_ to suppress bubbling giggles, you drag your hat down low on your face, slapping a hand over your mouth to muffle the noise slipping out from your lips.

You have your answer.

If you don’t break the silence first, it may never be broken.

“So,” you chuckle, “where are we going?” 

Your voice cutting through the dense air encircling the Mandalorian startles him into dropping the tool in his hand. You grin as you watch him fumble to pick it back up, sputtering under his breath in a language you suppose is Mando’a.

You laugh softly at his fumbling. “Just… _curious.”_ You pull your feet up into the chair, resting your chin on your knees, pretending to be innocent.

This time, there is no mishearing the tired, long-suffering sigh the Mandalorian releases through his helmet’s vocoder. 

“Arvala-7.”

“Okay-” you purse you lips and nod vigorously- “that… means nothing to me.” You’re pleased to have the name, at least.

The Mandalorian twists his chair around again, visor fixed on you. “Not surprising.” He crosses his arms over his stomach, leaning back against his seat. His voice is soft against the hum of hyperspace. “It’s a tiny backwater.”

“Seven Corellian hells-” crinkling your nose, you lean forward with a groan- _“please_ tell me it’s not another desert planet…”

The Mandalorian makes a light noise. 

He is amused.

“Oh, _blast it,”_ you moan, burying your face in the palms of your hands, “just my luck.” With a reluctant sigh, you peek your eyes upwards with an eyebrow raised questionably. “Should I even _bother_ asking your purpose there?” 

The Mandalorian inclines his helmet away, hyperspace light dancing across his visor as he surveys the view out the window. “I have-” he pauses- “…something to drop off.” He taps his boot lightly against the floor.  
“And…-” his voice dips to a mere whisper- “…something to pick up.”

You make a gruff noise, knocking your hat back off your forehead. You flop against your seat as he turns around to study you. “Sounds good, I guess,” you sigh, chewing on your lower lip. You are a bit anxious to ask your next question. “So, um-” you turn away from the Mandalorian’s stare- “about Keolith…” Your eyes flash up, the unspoken question insinuated by your tone.

Nodding a few times, the Mandalorian makes an affirmative sound. “I have a few jobs lined up.” The Mandalorian’s voice slows; heavy even through the modulator. His tone is much less curt and gruff than it was on Taek, and you wonder if lack of sleep is to blame. 

“If you’re _patient,”_ the intonation of his voice rises, “I will be in that sector before too long. I can take you there…-” he turns away- “or as close as you wish.”

Your heart pulses away in your chest, so vehemently that you wouldn’t at all be surprised if the Mandalorian could hear it too. 

“Holy Hutt!” A bright, beaming grin stretches across your face. You clasp your hands tightly together in front of you. “I can be _very_ patient, believe me.” 

_Yes._

You can’t believe it!

You feel your eyes lighting up from within, hope beginning to construct itself in your heart where, not too long ago, it was once utterly destroyed. If you weren’t opposed to crying in front of others, you would have burst into tears at the Mandalorian’s words.

_Keolith!_

You turn to stare out into hyperspace, practically vibrating in your seat from the electric, thrilling energy pulsing through your veins.

Imaginations of the luminous city lights and raucous city noise of Keolith twirl, dancing around in your head. A _new life;_ a _new start;_ to escape _everything._ You squeeze your eyes tightly against the overwhelming feeling of disbelief, threatening to steal your elation out from under you. 

No, for _once,_ this _will be_ something that turns out _right._

“Th-thank you,” you fumble, digging your fingers into the leather of the seat to distract from your singing emotions. _“Now’s not the time,”_ you tell yourself, _“keep it together.”_

A shift in movement catches the corner of your vision, forcing your line of sight back over to the front of the cockpit. 

“Come.” You blink, finding the Mandalorian standing beside you, towering over your head. His voice is gentle. “I’ll show you to your space.”

You can’t resist flashing him a toothy grin in response to that.

\-------

Finding yourself back down again in the lower level of the _Razor Crest_ (the name of the starship, according to your Mandalorian), your heart begins fluttering in your chest, threatening to take flight from sheer glee, the minute the he slides open a wall panel revealing a meager bunk tucked away in an alcove. 

Almighty Maker! 

It takes all your self-control to not dive headfirst under the covers and giggle like a little girl.

He shuffles back. “I-it’s tight… but-” 

With a delighted shriek, you knock past the Mandalorian. “Stars!” you shout, leaning both arms forward on the mattress before collapsing over onto it. “I could kiss a Hutt!”

You cackle, rolling over onto your back. “I haven’t had my own bed, a _real_ bed, in like-” you pause, staring up at the ceiling, to count on your fingers- “...well, _months!”_ You stretch your arms high above your head, laughing gleefully. “My _own_ bed!” You kick out your feet.

Oh, wait.

You hurl straight up, the fact you’re not yet alone clicking in your brain. You bite your lip, daring to flash a sheepish smile and shrug at the Mandalorian. You find he is studying your reaction with his helmet inclined slightly to the left. With a puff of air through the vocoder, he rests a shoulder against the wall by your alcove, his gloved fingers hooked on his belt.

“No Bothans this time.” His raspy voice is hushed, and even though it’s modulated, there’s no mistaking the playful undertone when he speaks. 

A bright grin bursts across your face, and you bounce up and down, testing the springs in the mattress. “Hey-” you reach out and whack the back of your hand against his armored side, deciding to take advantage of his improved mood- “Did you know that Bothans have…no…” You let the start of your joke slump off, your eyes flickering over towards the movement you catch behind where the Mandalorian stands.

With a sharp wail, your eyes blast open. 

The Mandalorian surges backwards, spooked into motion by your reaction. _“What?”_ he hisses, sweeping the room for what has you so disturbed.

“N-nothing.” Your voice is pathetically meek. You can’t rip your eyes away from the mirrored reflection gawking back at you. The Mandalorian’s visor follows your gaze until stopping, finding a forgotten mirror tucked away in the corner. 

“I just…-” you take a deep breath, touching a hand to your cheek- “I haven’t seen myself… i-in a while.” You hesitate before launching forward, rushing over to freeze in front of the mirror. 

You look… _tired._

Pitiful. 

_Ill_ , even. 

You let your eyes sweep over your facial features, fingers delicately brushing along your sunken cheeks. Pushing aside a few strands of hair peeking out from under your hat, you are disheartened to observe your skin has turned sallow- heavy bags encircling your bloodshot eyes, no doubt from fighting Taek’s sandstorms on the daily. You visibly cringe at the dirt caked along the sides of your face.

You are _filthy._

You take a subtle whiff of your shirt sleeve, disguising it as the gentle brushing away of dirt.

 _Banthaspit!_

Smell like a mynock, too!

 _Stars!_ You want to cry. No wonder the Mandalorian took easy pity on you. You appear every inch a scared, pathetic _girl._

You promised yourself almost two years ago you would never be in this state again.

And yet, _here you are._ Another broken promise to add to the ever-growing list. Eyes fluttering against the water building up in your eyes, you clear your throat, rubbing your hands together.

Time to whip out one of your sabaacc faces.

You twist around on your heel to face down the Mandalorian, throwing a hand on your hip. You flash an impish, confident smirk. 

The Mando has not moved from his position beside the bunk, his helmet now angled curiously, tilted as he examines you. Slowly and deliberately, he crosses his arms when you approach him.

“Well, Mando,” you chirp, “it _appears_ I am in need of a bit of a clean-up.” You splay your arms out, motioning down at your clothes. “Got a fresher in this place?”

The Mandalorian’s arms drop to his side. “O-oh, uh- _of course.”_ You hear a hitch mid-sentence, and you snort, wondering what’s prompting his flustering. He hastily shifts position to stand in front of another sealed door. It glides open with a sharp snap.

“In my... quarters.”

“Your quarters?”

His grip tightens on the doorframe, a faint strangling sound barely slipping through the vocoder.

Oh. 

Flustered again?

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from cackling aloud. Popping your hip out, you lean backwards with crossed arms. 

Keeping his head turned away, he exhales. “The fresher is connected to the room.” He rapidly taps his fingers against the wall. “There’s…-” he sighs heavily- “you’ll find a lock on the inside.”

You grunt affirmatively, satisfied with this arrangement. “Okay then! _Fantastic!”_ you sing, practically running the Mandalorian over in your haste to climb under cleansing waters. You haven’t showered in weeks, and _damn,_ you _will_ enjoy it, even if the water is ice-cold and freezes your blood solid.

Wait.

A sudden realization occurs to you. 

Halting mid-stride, you spin around in the doorway of the quarters, surveying the retreating Mandalorian with amusement.

“Not so fast, Mando.”

Freezing mid-step at your voice, the Mandalorian rests his hand atop a ladder rung. He keeps his back turned towards you, tilting his head to the side, awaiting your words.

You blink, feeling a bit silly only just now asking such a question after everything you’ve been through together, but to be honest, in the midst of all that happened on Taek, it never crossed your mind to inquire before.

“I-I never told you my name.” You begin swinging your foot back and forth, leaning against the doorframe. You refuse to look over where the Mandalorian is paused. “And, if my opinion _means_ anything, I’d prefer to be called by my name.” You let a hard frown fall upon your face. “Not _kid_ or _girl.”_

One second.

Two seconds.

Three seconds pass in deliberate silence. You knit your brow together, spending a curious glance at the Mandalorian. He is leaned against the ladder, helmet still facing away from you.

A modulated sigh.

“…What is your name?” 

His rasp is soft, so low you barely made his words out. He releases his grip on the ladder, turning and meeting your face. He studies you, patient as you take your time answering. 

You take a deep inhale of air, releasing it gently. A soft smile brushes your lips, and you give your name.

Your full given name spoken aloud rings foreign in your ears. Yet, as you utter it, there’s an unmistakable freedom that blooms in your heart- soft, _warm_. An alien freedom, an _unfamiliar_ freedom, but one you can _certainly_ get used to again.

“So, uh-” you shrug- “nice to be _‘officially’_ introduced, I guess.”

At your words, the Mandalorian shifts his weight, placing a foot on the bottom rung of the ladder before pausing, almost as if considering something. You watch expectantly, pursing your lips when he finally mutters something low in Mando’a.

A puff of modulated air.

“Din.” He begins slowly moving up the ladder. “Din Djarin.”

You stupidly blink, watching as his boots disappear back into the hyperspace-colored world above. 

“Oh.”

Din.

Good name.

You shake your head before stepping back into the Mandalorian’s quarters.

“Nice to officially meet you, Din.”

\--------

“Son of a Hutt!” 

Growling through clenched teeth, you continue yanking your fingers through the knotted tendrils of your hair. You yowl again as a clump catches in your fingers, pulling against your scalp.

“What a kriffing mess!” With a high-pitched moan, you relent, slapping your hands on either side on the sink. 

Might as well shave your hair at this point!

With a dramatic sigh, you gradually lift you head, rubbing your hand across the steamed-up mirror. You clear a space to stare, eye-to-eye, with a face a bit more familiar to you. Who knew you were hidden under all that grime? All it took was a little elbow grease- okay, _a lot_ of elbow grease- scrubbing away in the shower, letting the memories of your time on Taek spin down the drain as well. 

Crinkling your nose, you inspect your body in the reflection, avoiding looking at your blasted mess of hair. A little thinner, perhaps, than you were a year ago. But overall, your hair might just end up the biggest victim of your little detour on Taek.

Coulda been worse.

Fiddling with your tangled mop of hair again, you groan, deciding to just give up and abandon it to air-dry. You’ll have to see what you can do with it then. You desperately miss the days when your hair dangled freely around your waist, but you haven’t had a practical reason to let it grow that long in years. It currently hangs just below your shoulders, having been cut shortly after…

Your hands quiver.

You brush your fingers down along a piece of twine tied around your neck, clenching your fingers tightly around the pendant. _“Stop,”_ you hiss at yourself. Your fingers tremble harder at your demand. Sucking air through your teeth, you press your arms tightly against your abdomen, breathing slowly, deliberately, until the burning in your chest soothes and the trembling ebbs.

You roughly wipe your nose with the back of your hand, sniffing back against the hollow ache buried deep within. 

You… you can’t dwell on your guilt right now. 

With a shake of your head, you pry your attention towards the present, the _now._

Rapidly blinking, you reach around and fold yourself within a thick, fluffy towel you discovered stored away in a cabinet beside the refresher. You purse your lips, curiously spying around at the floor as you wick away the pearls of water from your legs.

The refresher room is _dark,_ like everything in this blasted place, and cramped for a ship this size. But that hasn’t prevented the Mandalorian from tossing his junk everywhere. _Stars,_ as tidy and well-kept as the main area and cockpit are, the bedroom and refresher are an utterly divergent reality. Clucking your tongue, you kick your foot against a pile of dirty clothes taking up at least half of the floor space in the fresher.

Hmf.

No wonder the Mandalorian sputtered like a dolt when you asked to shower.

“Not my fault you live this way, Din-” you pause, testing his name a few more times on your lips. You smile, deciding you like the way it sounds after all. “Like my mama always said-” your face relaxes at the mention of your mother- “if it’s always clean, it’s always ready for company.”

A naturally curious person, you are not ashamed to admit you’ve already gone through all the cabinets, opening and sniffing bottles, inspecting everything for any hint of insight into the man behind the metal.

All you’ve determined is he _really_ likes the smell of Andorian mountain roses. What that tells you about the man behind the helm, you’re not yet sure, but you’ll figure it out eventually.

You’ve _also_ determined that he most _certainly_ has a head of hair under that bucket of his. Anyone who owns this many hair conditioners would _have_ to.

Chuckling to yourself, you tie the towel off around your figure. You groan in agony as you turn towards your _own_ pile of clothes on the floor. Crouching, you lift a pant leg up between two fingers and grimace. Why bother showering if you just have to put these…these _contaminated_ things back on your skin?

_Hmm, unless…_

A sly smile tickles the corner of your mouth.

Spinning and opening the refresher door, you step out into the Mandalorian’s quarters, shivering against the chill you wade into. You’d already secured the main door when you first entered, but you check it once more for peace of mind.

Satisfied you won’t be caught in the midst of snooping, you march around the perimeter of the room, which doesn’t take too long, as it is also rather quaint in size. With a judging glare, you step over a pile of clutter at the front of his bed, swooping past a rather grim, Mandalorian-esque artwork on the wall. 

You continue gawking upwards, and your eyes widen with sobering concern at a rather alarmingly large and intimidating pair of viroblades. They are mounted above a wooden storage chest, and you lean forward, your hands placed on the top of the chest, standing on your tiptoes to get a closer look.

“Yikes,” you gulp, stumbling back. 

You really _do_ need to buy a new blaster. Once you have credits again, of course. 

Shaking your head, you step back a few feet, adjusting the towel tighter around your form. You bite your lower lip and slightly crouch down. You begin opening drawers in the chest, searching for what you need.

You smile.

You’re sure he won’t mind.

\-------

You hang the last of your sopping wet- but at least now _somewhat_ clean- clothes over the side of a chair to allow them to airdry overnight. If it required elbow grease to scrub your skin clean, _stars,_ you just about wore holes in your clothes from Taek. You scoured away at them, with colorful curses dropping from your tongue, in the sink you discovered in the kitchenette you found tucked away in an alcove.

You stride back and forth a few times from the sink to where your clothing hangs, ensuring you didn’t splash a mess of water on the floor. Satisfied everything is back in place and tidy, you begin bounding, practically _racing,_ towards your bunk, thrilled to dive under the covers and melt into the mattress.

Blasted stars, _finally!_

You cringe as you jog forward, complaining under your breath, as the bare metal flooring chills your bare feet. You really _must_ discuss the aesthetic and practical benefits of rugs with the Mandalorian tomorrow.

A catch of movement out of the corner of your eye piques your interest just as you near the panel your bunk hides behind. Only this time, you grin brightly when you see the woman staring back at you in the reflection.

It’s you, confident and bold again.

Releasing a cheery chuckle, you swoop into a deep curtsey in front of the mirror, pulling at the baggy flannel shirt that hangs off your figure. You crack a grin, tucking the tail of the shirt into woolen pants that are only held up by a belt on the tightest notch.

_Perfect._

Surprisingly enough, the Mandalorian has excellent taste in clothing. When not in armor, anyway.

You must be sure and compliment him.

Shaking your head with amusement, you open the panel to your bunk. Your mouth drops open in bewilderment to find a tray of food- _proper_ food- resting at the foot of the mattress.

The Mandalorian left you dinner while you showered.

“Oh-” you blink- “…I…I feel really guilty for stealing your clothes now.”

One whiff of the food, and the guilt dissolves.

_Hell yeah._

You snicker, taking the food tray on your lap. You let your back rest against the wall, your rear sinking down into the plush mattress. You practically inhale the food. It’s not that was particularly tasty, but after a solid month of surviving on rations and tossed-away garbage, it was a damn _feast._

Swallowing the last bite, you leap to your feet, strolling across the length of the room towards the kitchenette, searching for something to drink. You’re mid-sip when you notice a reflection shooting out from the darkness near the very back end of the main room. You raise a questioning brow, lowering the cup.

“What do we have here?” you mumble, taking one step forward into the dark void, squinting your eyes. Suddenly, an automatic light shoots on over your head, and you fling back with a squeak.

“What t- OH _KRIFF!”_ you yelp, dropping your cup and spilling water all over your bare feet.

A _sometimes_ bounty hunter.

The Mando called himself a _sometimes_ bounty hunter.

 _Sometimes_ \- like hell! 

There’s a whole-ass carbonite man, mere feet from your bunk. Right before your eyes! You tightly cover your mouth with both hands, eyes glued the frozen face. And you thought you were kidding earlier about the finding dead bodies thing! 

So much for the safe, fluffy, warm feelings from before. 

_Stars!_

You slap your palms against your eyes and groan. You’re such a trusting buffoon! The minute a bounty drops on your head, YOU’LL be the one hanging on the wall, mid-scream.

No. 

No. 

_Damn it,_ no.

You can’t deal with this- can’t deal with _carbonite man_ \- right now.

With a whimper, you spin around on your heel, flying straight for your bunk. You launch straight into it, slamming your fist against the controls. It slides shut with a satisfying _clank,_ and you lock it immediately.

Carbonite man burns vividly in your head when you close your eyes. As if you needed a new face crowding your dreams at night. 

So much for a good night’s sleep.

\-------

You sleep like a baby.

This shouldn’t surprise you. After all, it was only two nights ago that you slept under flimsy wooden decking, mere feet between you and a couple of mangled corpses. And only a night ago, you snored away in a desert encircled by things that wanted to eat you.

So, you’ve proven you can sleep in any scenario.

Adapt, survive.

At least _this_ time your bedroom-mate is just a probably-maybe-alive man encased in carbonite. Overall, a solid improvement from corpses, you think.

The night’s sleep has also improved your outlook on your sticky situation with the Mandalorian. After five dreadful months, you’ve been given no reason to yet believe there’s a bounty on your head, and the Mandalorian has given you no reason to distrust him.

So.

Might as well make the most of this opportunity. 

But, oh, you _will_ be watching your back.

Standing in the center of the depressing, freezing room, your face twists into a scowl. If this room is going to be your primary domain, it’s time to make a few adjustments. Dashing back and forth, you flick on all the lights you can find, (steering _well_ clear of carbonite man), brightening the gloomy space up considerably. 

It’s a start, anyway.

Singing under your breath, you begin flinging open cabinets, searching for something to eat. Now that your body has experienced proper food once again, your stomach rages for more. Taking a bite of something you found in a wrapper, you make a sharp, happy noise, satisfied with the choice.

“Well,” you grumble as you chew, “suppose I should locate the _sometimes_ bounty hunter.”

He’s been strangely quiet since he saw you into his quarters. In fact, you haven’t seen him since. He has to be somewhere on the ship… unless he leaped out the airlock.

A muffled clanking noise provides you a hint of where to begin searching. You take a step forward before pausing mid-stride. A begrudging thought occurs to you when your eyes recognize the satchel from Taek right where you dumped it on the floor the day before. Sighing heavily, you begin digging through the contents, making a noise when you pluck out the credit chip the Mandalorian had given you on Taek. 

This would buy a really, _really_ nice blaster.

 _And_ new clothes…

With an agonizing sigh, you are straightening back up when an object, no, _several_ objects, grab your attention. Kicked out of the way, underneath the chairs set up against the wall, you discover… _children’s_ toys? With a raised eyebrow, you reach out and inspect a little stuffed whomp rat. An easy smile brushes across your lips. 

Your heart warms, remembering the days of toys strewn about the floor.

You exhale softly, setting the toy back down where you found it.

Andorian mountain roses, children’s toys, and a carbonite man.

The warrior behind the helm remains an enigma.

A rhythmic knocking sound interrupts your thinking, reminding you of your prior mission. You follow the noise, and it leads you through a dim, narrow hall, down a few steps, and into a level below the main belly of the _Razor Crest._ You watch, lips pursed, as a gloved hand reaches up from the flooring, patting around the ground in search of a tool. Finding it, the hand disappears back down below.

You make a face, slumping to your knees right beside the edge of the opening in the floor.

“So, who’s carbonite man?”

A startled yelp rings from below, followed by a solid _bang._

“Oof,” you cringe, biting your lower lip. “Sorry…uh, didn’t mean to startle you.”

A string of grumbled words in Mando’a rise in the air, and if you had to wager a guess as to their meaning, you would put your credits on _expletives._

Dropping to your stomach, you prop your chin against the palm of your hand. You raise an eyebrow as two gloved hands reach up, grabbing onto the flooring on either side of the opening. The Mandalorian promptly hauls himself up and out, sitting along the compartment edge across from you. Shifting forward to rest his arms against his knees, he angles his helmet slightly towards you.

“Hi,” you smirk. 

You hear him grunt. “I see you’re finally up.”

You blink. “Oh-” you lift your head off your palm- “uh, was I asleep for long?”

He tosses aside a hammer, shifting sideways to dig through a tool bag located beside him. “Eleven standard hours.”

 _“Eleven?”_

You haven’t slept eleven hours straight since you were a kid.

“Stars.” You frown deeply. Shaking your head, you rest your chin back in the palm of your hand. “So… you didn’t answer my question.”

The Mandalorian continues sifting through the contents of his tool bag. 

“What question?”

You make a face, letting your legs flop back and forth as you rest on your stomach. “Carbonite man?”

A light, raspy chuckle.

“Gas money.”

You stop kicking your feet, mouth gaping open.

Staring directly at your face, the Mandalorian spins a tool around in his glove. With a brisk puff of air, he shifts forward, dropping back down into the mechanical compartment.

You blink.

“Son of a blaster!” You haul yourself off the floor to sit up straight. “You’re kriffin’ _messing with me.”_

You hear a muffled chuckle, distorted by the clanking of metal hammering against something.

“I’m both astonished and impressed,” you mumble low under your breath, shifting sideways to rest your shoulder against the wall. You feel something hard press against your leg, promptly reminding you of why you went seeking for the Mandalorian in the first place.

“Oh!” You crawl back over to the edge of the compartment, peering down into it. “I forgot. I have that credit chip to give back to you.”

You hear a hard grunt followed by a _clank._

“Keep it.”

You shift away, blinking, unable to comprehend his meaning. 

“B-but… I-”

“An advance on your pay.” Gloved hands reach up out of the floor, and he again heaves himself up. He leans forward, elbows resting on his thighs.

 _“Pay?”_ your voice inclines upwards.

He throws his hand, still clasping a wrench, out in your direction, and you gawk down at it. His tone is light. “Mechanic, right?” 

You feel your face begin to heat up. “Karkin’ hell, Mando.” You lean forward, burying your face in your hands. “Marek let my secret out. I’m a _dreadful_ mechanic.” You release an agonizing groan, keeping your face hidden away. “That’s why I got dumped on Taek.” You lift your eyes begrudgingly, biting your lip as the Mandalorian intently observes you.

“I rewired a compressor all wrong.” You cringe. “…uh, kind of caught fire in hyperspace. I was already fighting with the crew onboard, but the compressor was the final straw.” Sighing, you flop your head back. “Hell, if that’s a problem, please jettison me out of the airlock _now_ rather than _later.”_

He has the audacity to _chuckle._

“We’ll just have to find you something else to do.”

You grimace, tucking your knee under your chin. “Afraid I’m not too good at much,” you mumble, picking at your pants.

A _“hmf”_ attracts your eyes over to Din, whom you find is still sitting forward, elbows resting against his thighs. He angles his helmet to the side. 

“Pretty good speeder bike racer.”

You grin widely at both the compliment and his lilted tone of voice.

“Hell, that was nothing!” You throw him an impish smirk. “You should see me on a _swoop_ bike.”

Din puffs air through the vocoder, beginning to tap the wrench lightly against the metal flooring. The air, so warm just seconds ago, grows a bit tense as neither of you seem to quite know what to say next. 

_Maker._

“Well, uh,” you turn your eyes around the room, shifting back on your heels and preparing to rise. “Anyway… guess I’ll leave you alone now.” Standing up straight, you toss a shy smile at him.

Din stops tapping his wrench, helmet snapping straight up.

“Are…I-is that-” he makes a slight choking noise, “…my _shirt?”_

You mouth drops open a bit, and you gawk down at your figure. You honestly forgot you still wore his clothes.

“Oh,” you squeak. “Um…yeah.” You pull at the fabric on your legs. “…Uh, your trousers, too.” You shrug one shoulder, throwing your weight to the side. “Had to wash my only set of clothes. So… borrowed these from you.”

Din jerks his head away, tapping the wrench a little quicker, a little stronger, against the flooring.

“We’ll… We’ll be arriving at Arvala-7… soon.” His voice is strained, gruff through the vocoder. You have to bite the inside of your cheek to subdue the amusement tickling its way up your throat.

“Okay,” you chirp, spinning around and slapping a hand over your mouth to muffle an unrestrained laugh. “I’ll… go get dressed.” 

Taking a few steps away from the mechanical compartment, you decide now is as good a time as any to ask a question you’ve been wanting to ask since it occurred.

“One more thing.” You spin around on the ball of your foot, finding the Mandalorian now standing, mere feet away.

He turns towards you, visor boring into your eyes. Your smile softens before fading away completely. “Um, back on Taek?” You let your eyes drop. “I was really surprised when you, you know, dropped… your weapons.” You cross your arms, looking at everything _but_ the Mandalorian. “I was useless to you, at that point. So, um… why did you…”

“I knew I could get us both out.”

You lift your eyes, watching as the Mandalorian drops back down below the flooring.

“Oh.”

Well.

Guess it… all worked out.

With a light sigh, you twist around, excited by the prospect of visiting a brand-new planet…

…until you remember it’s a desert.

Karkin’ hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Familiar faces coming next chapter, along with some action and excitement! building the sweet, sweet tension up a little further! please leave me a review here or on tumblr (@wille-zarr) letting me know what you think!


	5. I'm Not Green

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After meeting a very special member of the Mandalorian's clan, something shifts in your relationship with Din.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter rated T for language; violence; family loss

Grandpa has never let the minuscule fact that he’s… well… _dead,_ prevent his words of unsolicited advice from flowing like the waters of Naboo.

 _“My girl,”_ the image of Grandpa slaps a hand to his face, _“one day, you’re going to push the wrong person’s buttons, and I’m not around to clean the mess up anymore.”_

 _“Oh!”_ you growl, shaking the ghostly image out of your mind. _“Quit judging me, Grandpa, and get out of my head.”_ You purse your lips, knowing your irritation is wasted on him.

He _is_ dead, after all.

Dead, and- _blast it!_ \- still absolutely correct! 

“Damn it, you always _were_ dead right… no pun intended,” you mumble, letting your lower lip tremble with the admission. You press your face harder against the palm of your hand, eyes boring into the wall of the _Razor Crest_ as if you could scorch the barrier down if you only stared hard enough and long enough. The Mandalorian landed the craft well over five, six minutes ago, but he has yet to emerge from the cockpit. You can still hear the heavy _clank-clank_ of boots against metal though, which is only intensifying the pressure building in your chest.

Heck, maybe if you scolded yourself again, you’d feel better.

With a pathetic moan slipping between your lips, you flop your head backwards, eyes fixated on the ceiling in a dead stare. Bloody stars! At the time, you thought the Mandalorian’s sputtering reaction to your wearing of his clothing hilarious, _cute_ even. But now that you’ve had time to mull it over, you’ve realized how much of a kriffin’ _bantha brain_ you are.

Bounty hunter, warrior, mercenary, gruff, silent, mysterious… 

And you stole his woolen trousers.

“So stupid!” you hiss, shifting forward in your chair. “So much for staying out of his way! Great work! Why not steal his bed next?” You smack your forehead against the table with a pathetic groan. 

Grandpa’s right, and you have to admit it.

You don’t attract trouble, you _create_ it. 

Blast.

You’re so lost in the midst of your misery that you unconsciously suppress the sound of shuffling fabric and stomping footsteps. 

Your chair jolts backwards. “Yikes!” You leap out of your seat, slamming both palms on the table’s surface. Eyes shooting up, they are immediately drawn to the cold gleam of Beskar to your left. You blink, staring into the emotionless, yet _somehow_ still judging, visor of the Mandalorian. His hand still grips the back of the chair.

“Oh, um, hi!” you squeak, warmth pulsing through your body from sheer mortification. “Stars, don’t scare me like that!” you say, lightly slapping the back of your hand against his chest. He takes a step back, gazing down at you.

 _“Maker, Mando!”_ you internally hiss, eyes locked in on his visor.

That… that _damn_ stare.

Hell.

You twist away, crossing your arms like a pouting child. He adjusts his gloves, utterly silent except for the light intake of air through his vocoder. You fumble with your own hands before just tucking them behind your back. “I-I put your clothes up,” you blurt, “f-folded like I found them.”

The Mandalorian tilts his head, eyeing you like a curious Lothcat. “Uh…thank you,” he says, so low it’s barely audible. “…It’s time to go.” 

Spinning on his heel, he moves towards the ramp’s controls. 

You hiss under your breath again. _“Great work! Why not make it a game? See how awkward you can possibly make things?”_ You slap your palm against your forehead, squeaking out an, _“ow”_ , when you do it with a tad too much enthusiasm.

The Mandalorian turns at your cry, tilting his head to look at you in that same curious manner. “What’s wrong?” His voice is now harsh; impatient. 

You purse your lips, your unease swapped out for annoyance at his severe tone. “Nothing,” you lie, pulling your hat down low on your brow line. “Just… ready to get out of this depressing tomb.” You move to stand right beside him, and you stare upwards into the void of his visor. You try hard to imagine a face, readable and approachable, instead of Beskar, letting the image you construct fuel the courage of your tongue.

“So, I have a question,” you decide to prod. An impish smirk tickles at the corner of your mouth. “You _do_ know what a lamp is, right? Or rug? _Color?_ ” You bite the inside of your cheek to suppress your smile, keenly aware that you are, once again, utterly disregarding Grandpa’s advice. 

Ah well, too late now. 

Might as well keep pushing those buttons.

“Honestly, I’d think a man with your fashion sense-” you wink, and you could swear he tenses- “I’d expect the same from your starship.” Smiling sweetly, you fold your hands together as if you’re some innocent schoolgirl. 

He stares down at you, fixated on your face. One second… two seconds… three seconds pass before, with a sharp grunt, he slams his fist against the controls. The ramp snaps open with a _hiss_. He tilts his helm, glaring down at you. “You,” he jerks his helmet upwards and begins stalking away, “are _irritating._ ”

Oh. 

He did _not_ just…

Eyes burning into his back as he puts swift distance between you and him, you sneer. “Hey! Come back here!” you shout, stumbling down the ramp after him. “I am _not!_ ”

You take two strides for every one the Mandalorian takes, huffing to catch up to him. “Ever think that, oh, I don’t know-” your volume rises- “maybe _you’re_ irritating?!” He continues ignoring, and you continue yelling. “Like how you walk too fast on purpose… so that I can’t… keep up!” Gasping for air, you break into a jog. “Hell, just kriffin’ _stop_ for two seconds!”

He freezes mid-stride, and you plow straight into his back with a squeak. Fumbling over the words to form an apology, you untangle yourself from his cape, feeling your cheeks flame yet again, something you’ve done more since knowing the Mandalorian than you’ve done in all the years of your life combined.

Kriff it, you’re not a blushing kind of girl!

“What?” He leans forward, casting a shadow across your face. “Stopped as requested.”

You lower your brows. “I take back my apology. It was uttered in haste.”

With a shake of his helm, the Mandalorian moves away again, albeit slower this time. “Well, thank you, sir,” you jest.

It’s only at this point that you pause long enough to take in what exactly it is the Mandalorian is leading you towards. You squint against the blinding rays of sunlight, holding a hand above your brow to observe, in the distance, a homestead consisting of multiple structures. From what you can tell at a short distance, some of them are draped with dull, weather-worn tarps and metal sheeting, blending into the desert floor, while others have roofs and walls consisting of a tightly woven material. Smoke emitting from the structures twists upwards, reaching towards the sun, evidence of life tucked away behind the woven walls. You stare up at the sky, taking grateful notice that it is absent of the swirling dust clouds Taek was famous for. Rather, the sky is a rich shade of blue, unobstructed and untainted by the filter of rolling sand.

A smile, both pleased, yet curious, tickles the corner of your mouth when you observe five, maybe six, children of various ages running from one structure to another. Your heart sings with their carefree, innocent laughter.

But then the Mandalorian is spotted. 

A chorus of shrieking cheers fills the air along with perfect laughter. You freeze mid-step, watching with wide eyes as the pack comes racing. Beelining straight towards the imposing Mandalorian, and with not one ounce of hesitation, they launch themselves at him, grabbing fistfuls of his cape and tugging on his gloved hands.

Your mouth gapes open.

_Karkin’ hell!_

You… assumed he had no family… no kids. 

You watch as he stoops down, scooping one of the smaller kids up, tossing him up over his armored shoulder as the rest clammer for a scrap of attention. Their little singing cries rise up on the air, growing in intensity as you move closer towards the children.

“I missed you!”

“Wait till I tell you what Birdie did!”

“I got in trouble!”

“Did you shoot anyone?”

If he says anything in response, you didn’t hear it. The Mandalorian lets the little boy in his arms slide back down to the ground, resting a gloved hand on top of his head. It’s in this moment that the children take notice of you, the stranger, approaching.

Their voices descend into sharp whispers. You spread a warm, unassuming smile on your face, tilting your hat upwards so they could see your eyes. “Well, what do we have here?” Wishing to put the children at ease, your voice takes on a lilted, teasing tone. You notice the Mandalorian watching your approach with careful attention. You ignore him, winking down at the kids. “All of these yours, Mando?” 

The children burst into laughter, and the Mandalorian releases a long-suffering sigh, raspy through his helmet’s vocoder. His head flops to the side, visor eyeing you as if saying _“really?”_

Before he could answer, a new voice calls out. Your eyes lift, watching as a woman in a dress with flowing, dark hair rushes forward.

“Din,” she laughs, “you’re back!” Drawing nearer, she does not slow down. The Mandalorian opens his arms to accept her into a tight embrace, lifting her a bit off the ground as the children giggle. 

Your teasing smirk plummets to the ground, burying itself in the sand to die a slow, agonizing death.

Oh! 

_Oh dear…_

Wife!

Hell! _Hellhellhellhell._

Your face flames. Maker, how do you introduce yourself? _Hello, ma’am, your husband has nice pants._

Bastard son of a Hutt.

The memory of your teasing, audacious behavior from the past few days burns your head as you watch him lower his wife back down to the ground. Tightly clenching your teeth, you quickly replace your embarrassment with a certified Sabaac smile. That Sabaac smile is the only thing keeping you from flying to Tatooine and flinging yourself into the Pit of Carkoon. 

“Mandalorian.”

Thank the Maker, a distraction! The new voice distracts your mind long enough to grant you the ability to tear your eyes away from the couple. You turn to observe an Ugnaught emerging from the doorway of the structure nearest to you. He is leaning heavily against a walking cane, wincing with obvious strain with every step forward he takes.

“We’ve been concerned… regarding your… prolonged absence.” The Ugnaught grunts against the exertion.

“Yeah, well-” the Mandalorian’s voice is low- “I ran into an unavoidable… delay.”

Fidgeting with the edges of your sleeves, you fight the swelling discomfort blooming in your chest. Feeling terribly alien, a stranger amongst friends, you decide to just rip the bandage off and make your presence known.

“Uh, he means me.” You flash a small smile, eyes sweeping across the strangers’ faces as their eyes shift to you. “Hi… my name is Unavoidable Delay.”

At that, the children break into giggles, taking your jest as a green flag to clamber around your legs. It’s now your turn to be peppered with questions.

“You’re funny!”

“What’s your real name?”

“I like your hat.”

“Are you a hunter?!”

“Oh, come now.” Spreading your arms out, you flash a lop-sided smile. “Now, do I _look_ like a hunter?” The children snicker, shaking their heads.

“Children,” the dark-haired woman softly chides, “please don’t overwhelm our guest.” She waves her arms out, motioning towards the structures in the distance. “You can ask your questions another time.” Eyes following in the direction the woman motioned towards, you watch as a few other adults move in and out of the buildings, engrossed in their work. 

The children begrudgingly move away, grumbling amongst themselves and throwing glances back at you. Catching their eyes, you stick your tongue out at them, sending them into a flurry of giggles.

With a toothy grin on your face, you twist back around, meeting the gaze of the dark-haired woman. “I’m sorry,” she chuckles. “They aren’t used to meeting new people. Our world is small. Just living here has been a big adjustment for all of us.” The woman folds both hands carefully together in front of her, genuine kindness radiating off of her. “You are very welcome here as the Mandalorian’s, ah, guest.” She tosses a glance at him and raises an eyebrow. 

Plopping his rifle butt down in the sand and leaning against it, the Mandalorian sighs. “She’s with me-” he angles his head towards you, his voice strained- “for the time being.”

You shriek on the inside, terrified to look at the woman. You hope she _really_ trusts her husband to travel with you alone, or this just got _incredibly_ awkward…

“Well, regardless-” her smile brightens, absolving you of your concerns- “you are welcome here as a friend.”

You lower your eyes, sighing, not at all used to such an earnest display of cordiality from another person. To be perfectly frank, you’re much more comfortable with horrific manners, gruff language, and violent threats targeted at your life than you are with such hospitality.

Thankfully, you don’t have to think of a response. You catch movement in your edge of vision, and your gaze shifts downwards. 

“Welcome,” the Ugnaught grunts, “to my home.”

Humor bubbles in your stomach, a small giggle forcing out from your lips, at the contradiction in the Ugnaught’s grumpy expression, yet welcoming words. You give him your name, reaching a hand towards him, open in a sign of friendship.

This draws a noise from him. “Kuill.” He takes your hand, gripping it firmly. “An acquaintance of the Mandalorian.”

“Acquaintance?” The woman takes a step away from the Mandalorian and light-heartedly laughs. “Kuill, you almost sacrificed your life on Navarro for the Mandalorian and the child.” She rests both hands on her hips. “I believe that renders you, at the very least, casual friends.”

The Mandalorian and Kuill grunt in unison. 

“I’m Omera,” she says, taking your hands into her own. “And it’s nice meeting you.”

You nod again, your defenses dropping further with every soft word spoken from this woman. You didn’t know a single thing about her, but you know exactly what the Mandalorian sees in her. Her presence is like a bubble of comfort, a zone where no wrong could possibly take place.

You turn, peering over at the Mandalorian, who is watching the interaction between you and Omera with his head tilted in that curious manner again. “Well, Mandalorian, your wife and family are absolutely lovely,” you state.

He jerks back off his rifle, helmet bouncing back and forth between your face and Omera’s. “Sh-she… no-” He stops, a strangled groan slipping out from under the helm.

“Not married.” Omera says, putting him out of his misery. You watch her biting back a smile, covering her mouth with a hand.

“Oh.” Raising an eyebrow, you cross your arms. “I…uh, see.” 

You really didn’t. 

But regardless, you’re… relieved. Squeezing your hands tightly behind your back, you risk a quick flash of your eyes up at Din. A jolt stabs your heart when you find him already staring. You rip your eyes away, perhaps a bit too obviously… Kuill gives you a curious glance, for an Ugnaught, anyway.

Din takes a step backwards, tapping his fingers restlessly against his leg. “Is… he in the house?” He does not wait for an answer. Rather, he sweeps away, stalking in the direction of the domicile Kuill had emerged from. You watch, silent, as the shining Beskar disappears through the darkened doorway. Biting your lip, you twist back around, both perplexed and amused by him.

Well, guess you hit a nerve.

“Sorry-” Omera waves her hand dismissively- “he’s just… eager to see someone.” She shares a look with Kuill, her eyes twinkling.

Absent-mindedly rubbing the back of your neck, you let out a tired sigh. “Yeah-” you tilt your head in the direction of the house- “and he’s a man of few words… So, uh… then who exactly _are_ you people?”

“They are assisting me in my time of recovery,” Kuill interrupts, leaning forward on his cane. “Which has turned into a favorable arrangement for us all.”

“And _you_ should be sitting, Kuill.” Omera clucks her tongue. “You’re going to overdo it in this heat.”

Kuill grunts, but remains still, obviously accustomed to Omera’s gentle fussing. She sighs, shaking her head. “Kuill was terribly injured on Nevarro not too long ago. Din returned him to our village on Sorgan so that he could recover, be treated in safety.”

“You’ve shown me great kindness.”

Omera’s smile grows at Kuill’s words. “Stubborn man, Kuill insisted on returning here to Arvala-7 before he was well enough to be left alone.”

Kuill makes a noise. “I let you come with me, did I not?” 

“After I demanded it.” Omera’s brows lower, and she folds her arms carefully across her chest. You openly chuckle at the sharp gleam in Omera’s eye. While she does radiate gentleness and kindness, you had no trouble picturing her becoming rather harsh and bossy when concerning the well-being of another. 

“And the others-” Omera motions to the other huts- “the other two families here are also from my village. Kuill hired them to work the farm just for this season, until he is well enough to work alone again.” She rests a hand upon Kuill’s shoulder. “For which we are all very grateful, the opportunity to have work during our harvest planet’s off-season.”

“As I have said before, it is I who is grateful… Now,” Kuill sighs, turning to walk back towards his home, “we should come inside and become better acquainted with our guest.” He motions to you, and you thank him for his words with a beaming grin. 

“I have spoken.” 

Watching as Kuill slowly makes his way in the direction of the house, your smile fades as awkwardness seeps in to replace it. “Um, well.” You begin rubbing your arms up and down, shifting your weight back and forth between both of your legs. “I’m… not really sure what the Mando’s plans are, um-” you raise an eyebrow- “I am grateful for the hospitality. I want to do my part… Help out.”

“If that’s what you wish,” Omera replies, turning around, “there is certainly plenty to do. Now, as Kuill requested, come on inside. We’re all friends here.” 

You watch as Omera walks away, biting back envy for the length and shine of her hair as it sways back and forth behind her. _Your_ hair is a matted mess under this hat. Kriff, you’re never taking it off! Crossing your arms, you pout your lips. _“Yeah, thanks a lot, Taek!”_

Oh. Oh, no use dwelling on it. You sigh heavily, beginning to walk forward when sharp _“shhh”_ stops you in your tracks. 

_“Wait, she sees us!”_ a little voice hisses.

Hmm. 

You slip your hands into your pockets, lazily striding in the direction of the noise. “Well,” you sigh, casually kicking your feet as you walk, “I sure am _bored._ ” You begin whistling a tune, lightly skipping in the direction of a second, smaller structure.

Giggles.

“She knows we’re here!” A dark-haired girl, a bit older than the ones you had seen previously, steps out from behind the building. “Hi…” Her eyes drop to the ground. Five other children tumble out from hiding.

“Well, hello!” You drop down, letting your unaffected, lazy accent creep into your words. “So, I’m guessing you guys are from Sorgan, huh?”

A chorus of affirmatives break out. 

“I’m Winta.” The eldest girl slides her foot across the sand, eyes creeping up to meet yours. “Um, you were just talking to my mother.”

“Ah, really?” You flash a lop-sided smile at her, observing Winta has the same dark hair; expressive eyes as Omera. You stand back up, ruffling the hair of a little boy. You barely open your mouth before your brain is assaulted by a bazillion names and requests.

“Will you play with us?”

“Let’s show her the cave!”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“Hey now!” You raise your palms up in surrender. You are tickled, utterly charmed by the bright enthusiasm of the children. Looking down into their eyes, your chest grows warm, so heavy you could barely stand, at the children’s precious, untainted joy.

_Oh stars._

You’ve so, _so_ missed that pure, innocent wonder. 

You miss _her_ wonder. 

You swallow back the sharp burn clawing its way up your throat. 

Not now. Not now.

Clearing your throat, you sweep you hand out to the side. “Well, one at a time!” You place both hands on your hips, pushing away the heaviness in your chest. “I’m up for anything!”

 _“Told you_ she’d wanna play with us.”

You grin, breaking into your own burst of giggles as two sets of hands grab your own, tugging at you to run along with them.

\-------

For what it’s worth, the children are rather terrible. 

In a good way, of course.

You are walking beside Winta, the evening sun casting ribbons of orange and red in the sky above the homestead. As the nighttime chill rolls in, evicting the day’s heat from its position, the breeze stings against the wet tears of laughter still drying in the corners of your eyes. 

“Maker!” you choke out, throwing Winta a glance. 

She beams up at you, no longer the bashful girl afraid to even make eye contact. “I wish Mom could have seen that!” Winta giggles, breaking into a dash as you near the homestead. You shake your head, grinning as you follow after her.

Entering through the doorway, your eyes take a few seconds to adjust to the low lighting emulating from the central fireplace. You blink, standing in the doorway, feeling a bit strange just bursting right in. You are, after all, a stranger here. Besides for Omera and Kuill, you don’t see anyone else... namely, the Mandalorian. 

When your eyes meet those of Kuill, you sigh under your breath, terribly grateful, when he motions you to sit an empty chair beside him. “Please,” he says, “take a seat. From the looks of it, you’ve had an eventful afternoon.” His voice is lighter than before; amused. Biting your lip, you slowly slip down into the seat, feeling a bit like the child in a room full of adults. 

“Maker,” you grumble when you stare down at your clothes, discouraged to find them, once again, _filthy._

“You can clean up over here.” Omera interjects, and you turn to find her moving towards a pot by the fire. She gives you a wink as you move past her.

“Ah, thanks,” you sigh, grateful for her knowing assistance. As you’re washing up at the water basin, you eavesdrop as Omera instructs her daughter.

“Winta,” Omera calls, “please grab that bowl and fill it with the baby’s favorite food.” 

Your heart jolts.

 _“Baby?”_ You spin around on your heel, water splashing up in your face. _“Your_ baby?”

“No,” Omera chuckles, shaking her head, “Din’s.”

_“Din’s?”_

Omera stops what she’s doing, resting one hand on her hip, an incredulous look on her face. “That man didn’t tell you?”

You hear Kuill grunt. “Sometimes, I think that helm of his prevents his brain from firing on all cylinders.” He shakes his head. “Stubborn man.”

“Or taken too many hits to the head.” Omera grumbles, stirring the pot with a spoon.

“Well-” you lean back against the sink, mouth gaped open- “I… I guess that explains the children’s toys in the _Razor Crest_. Here I was just thinking he had a weird hobby.”

Winta bursts into giggles, and you wrap your arms tightly around your body. You are stunned, to say the least, your brain struggling to re-process what you’ve just learned.

“He’s so cute!” Winta chirps, placing a bowl down on the table. “Wait till you meet him!”

“Meet who?” 

Your eyes dart to the doorway. A woman, who very much looks like she means business, very _violent_ business, dips her head down through the doorway, greeting the room with a self-assured smirk. 

The room breaks into a round of greetings.

“You’ve arrived!” says Omera. “Din told us you were meeting him here for the trade-off but thought you wouldn’t get here until tomorrow.”

“Ah,” she chuckles, moving towards a booth tucked away in a wall recess. Leaning back, she kicks her feet up on the Holodeck table beside it. “I was closer to Arvala than he thought.”

You hiss under your breath, digging your nails into the palms of your hands. 

Stars, is _she_ a bounty hunter, too? Who the kriff died and left you a bounty hunter magnet? You fight the shaking in your hands, pressing them tightly against your legs.

Well, she hasn’t attacked you yet, so… all’s good… _perhaps?_

Stay cool; stay calm; don’t draw attention to yourself.

“Hi,” you squeak, waving with a wet hand, soap suds flying at the motion. 

The woman raises an eyebrow at you, a hint of amusement on her face. “Mando’s _business_ partner, I assume?”

Oh hell.

“He told you? About me?” You blink.

She folds her hands across her waist. “I’m Cara, business associate. Friend, whatever.”

“Definitely a friend,” Omera calls from across the room.

“Fine.”

You take a deep breath, mentally peeling a layer of nervousness off of your skin. Time to be convincingly competent; confident. A person like Cara could see right through you, so you have to be that street-smart, cocky person again. Like the flick of a switch, you let a mask slip over your face, veiling your true feelings.

You aren’t too sure why, but your lazy, outer rim accent you had used earlier with the children slips into your mouth, coloring each of your words as you give Cara your name. “Mando sure has a lot of friends-” you sit back in your chair beside Kuill- “for someone who’s so aloof and unsociable, that is.”

Cara cracks a laugh. “What? Aloof? Him? Nooooo.”

“I heard that.”

You swivel in the chair, eyes trained on the Mandalorian as he strolls inside, a floating cradle tagging behind. 

One word repeats in your brain: _baby baby baby baby baby._

The Mandalorian focuses in on Cara, moving to sit beside her on the booth. Ah, the cradle is closed up! As it floats past you, you wonder if the child looks anything like his father. After all, his son is your only insight into what the Mandalorian looks like under that metal head of his.

You force your gaze away, tucking your interest on the cradle behind your mask, not letting it slip this time. You are grateful when Winta pulls a chair up beside you and Kuill. Anything to distract your wild, racing mind. You sneak a glance out the corner of your eye, observing Cara and the Mandalorian now engrossed in their own conversation, about business or whatever. 

“Your accent changed.”

Your eyes flick up.

Of course, Kuill would call you out on it.

“Uh, yeah.” You flash a lop-sided smirk, deciding to just keep the accent since he pointed it out.

“Outer rim.”

You nod.

“Sularian?”

Your mouth drops open, every single shard of your cocky persona tossed out the window.

“H-how?” you sputter in astonishment, “How did you know?” 

Astonished is putting it mildly. He recognized an accent from a barely known, barely recognized ice cube of a planet in the outer regions!

Kuill makes a noise, shifting closer to you. “I’ve visited before.”

 _“Shu’mire omie,”_ you mumble, “No way! I- I didn’t think anyone just _visited_ Sularia.”

“Unfortunately,” Kuill’s voice grows stiff, “it was during my forced servitude to the Empire.”

You blink. “I… see.” You force yourself to breath.

Enough said. You really didn’t want to go there, not tonight, not with Winta listening to every word. You turn to watch her, her innocence, happily stringing seeds with a needle and thread, and you know you just can’t. 

“From what I could tell,” Kuill continues, “in its original state, the Omiemi Valley would have been remarkable.”

You choose to home in on the “valley” part, ignoring the veiled statement tucked away in his words. “Ah, to be honest-” you pick up a seed- “I’ve only ever been to that valley a handful of times.” With a pained sigh, you let the seed fall to the table. You turn, flashing Winta a bright smile. “Go, find an absolute monster of a mountain on Sularia, climb to the top, and _bingo._ That’s where I lived, along with a hundred generations of my family.”

“Wow!” Winta beams, “Was it cold?”

“Yup, always.”

“Never hot?”

“Never.”

“No wonder you hate deserts.” 

Din’s low rasp rips your attention away from Winta. You’d honestly forgotten about the presence of others in the room, much less that they could overhear your conversation.

Din leans forward, his elbows resting against his knees.

You stare openly at him. “Despise, to be more accurate.” 

You hold his gaze, only turning when Winta grasps onto your wrist. “Tell me, what’s snow like? I’ve never seen snow before.”

You are happy for the distraction. You pull a smile onto your face, letting the accent slide right back into your mouth like it had never left to begin with. “Hey, I could write a ten-page essay just on the _cons_ of living on a snow planet.” 

You point a finger at the ceiling. 

“One, it’s cold.” 

Second finger.

“Two, it’s cold.” 

Third finger. 

“Three, did I mention it’s _cold?”_

Winta giggles, and you wink at Omera as she slides you a plate of food, settling down beside her daughter.

“And-” you scoop up food with your spoon, terribly pleased to have someone so eager to hear about your homeworld- “my dad and grandpa were _herders._ Try chasing a lost animal across mountain tops, singing till your throat stings, choking every time you open your mouth in the plunging temperature.”

“Singing?” Omera laughs. “To an animal?”

“I- I guess it does sound funny.” You absently swirl your spoon around on your plate, disregarding your pains of hunger. “A series of high-pitched notes. Ancient melodies. Draws them all in, every time.”

“Even my blurgs?” Kuill chuckles. “I’d like to see you try that.”

“Oh, oh stars.” You groan. “Wait, what did I just get myself into?”

“Apparently,” Omera’s eyes twinkle, “you’re singing to blurgs tomorrow.”

“Hell,” you groan. Your eyes shoot to Winta. “Oops, aha… sorry. Stars!”

“Should be interesting.”

You shoot Din a dirty look, but he continues anyway.

“We’ll look forward to it.”

 _Oh, I’d watch that tone, Din Djarin._ You open your mouth to snot off at him, but Winta cuts you off.

“Well,” Winta starts, beginning to string her seeds again, “why’d you leave your home then? Why’d you want to leave?” 

“Ah, um… you see….” 

_Stars,_ what’s an age-appropriate way to say this? Without inflicting some sort of childhood trauma?

“They’re… not there anymore.”

Winta drops her string of seeds. “Why?”

“Winta-”

“It’s okay, Omera.” Your eyes flutter against the sting of building, bubbling emotion. You steal a glance over at Kuill, back to Omera, both seemingly content with remaining silent, letting you talk this one out with Winta. 

“Um, they’ve- they’ve all passed on.”

Winta shakes her head, not comprehending your words. “So… you’re all alone?” Your heart breaks at how small her voice sounds.

“Well, I had my grandpa for a while,” you add brightly, hoping to lighten Winta’s mood. “Ah, until he, um, passed too.”

Well, so much for lightening the mood. You release a heavy, pained sigh. _Maker,_ you miss them so, _so_ badly.

“Winta, sometimes…” you pause, choosing your words very carefully, “sometimes bad people do bad things. But that’s okay-” you take a shaky breath- “because there will always be good people there, making the bad people stop.”

Winta’s eyes widen, stunned silent by your words, and you can’t help but feel a bit guilty for your role in the destruction of a shard of her innocence. 

“And there will always be good people.” Kuill rasps, patting Winta’s hand.

“Like… like Cara?” she asks.

“Like Cara?” You turn and glance over at where she’s sitting. Sure enough, both Din and Cara have been listening in on your conversation. Cara’s eyes are zoned out, dark, like she’s a thousand lightyears away. You tilt your gaze, finding Din staring at his gloved hands, tightly clenched before him on the Holodeck table. With a jolt, he twists to place his right hand possessively atop of his son’s cradle.

“Shocktrooper.” Cara mumbles, taking a sip from a glass. “Rebellion.”

“Oh,” you chirp. “If you mean the big, scary troopers, I-I think I remember seeing Rebellion shocktroopers. Move in… after.” You take a deep breath, looking at Cara’s face even if she won’t return the look. “I don’t think anyone from Sularia could ever forget them.”

Your heart pangs, panicking when you feel a sob shooting its way up your throat. Biting the inside of your cheek, you force your breathing to even out, refusing to let the sob erupt.

Not now. 

Wait till alone. 

Wait till alone.

“Ah-” you flash a smirk, grabbing onto Winta’s hand- “I actually really like being all on my own.” You force your voice to be light and airy, winking at Winta. “Means I get to do _whatever_ I want.”

When Winta cracks a shy smile, you know what you’ve said is working. “Hey, Little Birdie told me you’re the only kid who’s learned to ride a burg.” Winta beams even brighter; you’re relieved you’ve brought up the right topic to distract her. 

“She’s amazing,” Omera agrees, lilted voice trying to help her daughter refocus.

“Will you show me tomorrow, if it’s okay with your mother?” You lean forward, both arms resting on the table. “If I gotta sing to ‘em, you can at _least_ ride one.”

“Seems like a fair trade, my girl.” Kuill grumps at Winta, leaning back in his chair, sighing heavily. You smile as he begins to doze off.

Winta and Omera chuckle. 

“Deal!” 

A high-pitched cooing shatters whatever ounce of your composure that remained. “Oh!” you gasp, eyes fixated on a bundle Din has pressed against his chest. You dare not move any closer, both terrified and thrilled to be in the same room as an infant again.

“Son, huh?” you prod, tapping your fingers against the table. You feign casual interest, but you know your eyes are betraying you.

And honestly, you really just don’t care if they do.

Din nods, not sparing you a glance while his arms hold his son.

“Does he… have a name?” Stars, you want to see him, _hold him_ so badly. Does he have light hair; dark hair? It is like Din’s?

“Good question,” Cara adds dryly, dismantling a scope from her weapon. 

“Up for debate.” Omera sighs in a way which tells you this is a long-standing sore spot with her.

“Maker, Mando.” When his visor finally shifts to pay you attention, you just gawk at him. 

Hell, who doesn’t name their kid?

The bundle begins squirming, and your heart responds by pounding away, pulsing in your ears. The blanket falls away, revealing two large, piercing eyes boring straight into your own.

Oh, Maker. 

Din is a green, big-eared alien dude.

Explains the raspy voice… but, like, what the actual fuck.

“Isn’t he so cute?” Winta coos, jumping up and rushing over to sit beside Din. You beam as the baby reaches both hands out, grasping for Winta’s fingers and giggling. It’s a sweet sight, you think. The tough Mandalorian, who kicked a lot of butt on Taek, now surrounded by children.

You watch as Din gently eases the child into Winta’s arms, muttering instructions in her ear, though she didn’t seem to be paying them any attention. She walks him over to Omera, the baby now grasping his bitty hands out for her attention.

“Silly child.” Omera grins, setting him in her lap. 

Now positioned just across from you, mere feet away, you blink in astonishment at the unusual characteristics of the child. Green, wrinkled like your old grandpa- even the old man wispy white hairs! Maker, you’ve never seen such a species before.

Your heart turns to pudding, melting down into your toes, as those large, expressive orbs turn their focus to you.

So, you follow your mother’s instinct. 

You make a silly face.

The baby blinks… then bursts into laughter, precious and contagious. Followed by Winta, then Omera, you. Soon, a chorus of rippling laughter joins with the that of the child’s. You could have even sworn you heard a few low chuckles slip out of that stiff vocoder of Din’s.

“Stars,” you smile gently once your giggling is under control, “Din, he’s adorable. And if he looks anything like you,” you wink over at Din, back to your mischievous ways, “I think you’re both pretty handsome.”

Cara snorts, quickly covering her face with a hand and turning away.

“Sorry to disappoint.” Din’s modulated voice grumbles. He leans forward, lower arms resting against his thighs. “I’m not green.”

“Bet you got big ears though.” You make a face at Din before turning to focus on the child. You hear a harsh puff of modulated air.

“I like her,” says Cara.

Din grunts, tapping his foot rapidly on the floor. “You would.”

What the blazes does that mean?

You make a noise, letting the child take your finger, grinning when he tightens his grip. Three little fingers. The Mandalorian has five. Adopted. 

_“Where in the galaxy did he find you, little guy?”_ you think. _“Well, either way-”_ you sneak a glance across the room; Din is watching your interaction intensely, resting on the edge of his seat- _“you’re really lucky to have him now.”_

The child seems to agree, almost as if he sensed your thoughts.

How strange.

\-------

A baby cries, the sound cracking open the dark.

 _“Mmhf….”_ Your groggy lids fight to open. “B-baby… Comin’ baby…” The little cries continue to pierce into your dreamworld, flipping you awake like a mechanical switch being turned. Sitting up, you blink rapidly against the bleariness. Where are you? This isn’t… You swallow the knife in your throat.

Oh. Right. 

Releasing a heavy sigh, you glance over at the bed to your right. Empty. Omera and Winta have already gotten up for the day. Stars! What time is it? They should have woken you up…

You continue mumbling these sentiments under your breath, frantically throwing the blankets off of your legs. Tugging the nightgown over your head that Omera had graciously let you borrow, you dress as quickly as you can. You nearly fall over as you hop on one foot, yanking a boot onto the other. Drawing your hat low on your brow line, you sigh, reaching out to fling back the curtain.

“Come on.” A faint voice from the other side of the curtain steals your attention. “Eat, you little womp rat.”

You part the curtain ever so slightly, peering out into the main room. A smile tickles at the corner of your mouth when you find the Mandalorian, holding his son, a spoon to his mouth. The baby refuses it again, shaking his head vigorously, his piercing squeal reverberating throughout the room. You press a hand over your lips, trying hard not to give yourself away by letting a laugh slip out. 

“Fine.” Din grumbles, setting the child up on the table. He leans back against the chair, a low, curbed sigh emitting from the vocoder. His helmet rests back, staring up at the ceiling in defeat.

Biting back your grin, you reveal yourself from behind the curtain. “Battle hardened warrior, defeated by a child.” Din’s head jerks up, immediately homing in on you. 

With a smirk still tugging at the corner of your mouth, you continue, “You look exhausted. Well, not _actually,_ because of…” You wave your hand around your face. “But…ah,” You pause, trying not to bury yourself even deeper. “…You know what I mean.”

“Hmf.” He folds both hands deliberately across his waist. “And you could do better?”

With a sly smile, you sit down beside him. The Mandalorian straightens up. 

“Good morning,” you chirp, sticking out a hand towards the child. The baby gurgles, grabbing onto your hand. He bursts into a fit of giggles, bobbing back and forth as you shake his hand up and down in greeting.  
You chuckle, letting go. “Okay now-” you scoop up a bit of food- “you’ve got to eat, little guy.”

The baby babbles, pressing his hand over his mouth. You sense the Mandalorian leaning in towards you, no doubt about to throw you an _“I told you so”_ in your ear.

Not so fast, Mando.

“Kid,” your tone is more authoritative this time. You lean back, arching an eyebrow at the child. 

Another word isn’t needed. 

His little hands slowly lower from his face, revealing a bright, happy little grin.

“Uh huh. See?” You snort, triumphant when he accepts the bite. “I’m not a pushover like your father over here.” With a sly grin, you angle you head to the side, daring the Mandalorian to bite back at your words. 

Instead, you find him silent, motionless, visor trained on your face, and it dawns on you… he’s really close.

Too close.

_Yikes!_

Your hands fly down to the base of your chair, prepared to scoot back far, far away from him. But his gloved hand shoots out, gripping the back of your chair, freezing you in place.

“There’s a word in Mando’a-” he leans forward- “to describe people like you.”

“Uh… what?” You raise an eyebrow, not quite sure where this is going. 

He makes a noise, tilting his helm to the side. 

_“Ka’r’ika.”_

Releasing his grip on your chair, he stands, towering over you. You crinkle your nose, not at all trusting his light-hearted tone. “…Which means?”

He makes a noise, picking the child up and placing him down in his floating cradle. The Mandalorian turns his back to you, striding towards the doorway.

“It means _brat.”_

Your mouth drops to the floor.

“Now, wait just a- _did you just?_ Mando! _Get back here!_ You can’t just insult me _and then leave!”_ You shoot up out of your chair, stumbling after him into the blinding morning rays of Arvala. You pause in front of the house, growling as you watch him stalk in the direction of the _Razor Crest._

“Well, YOU’RE a _bushu!”_ you shout after him. “And you can GUESS what that means!”

With one final grunt, you throw a hand on your hip, flipping your hat up with the other.

Damn Mandalorian.

You like him.

\-------

“So, you just _sing_ to them? And they _come?”_

You snort at the incredulous tone in the little girl’s voice. “Yeah! We’d herd them just like that.” You stop walking, turning to drop down to the children’s eye level. “Cross my heart; hope to die.” You make the swearing motion. “No joke.” With a chuckle, you stand to continue walking towards the blurg pen where Kuill waits.

You catch the children sharing curious glances, but they dutifully follow after you as Winta races forward. “That’s my favorite blurg!” She points at the smallest one in the pen. “He let me ride him first.”

“Indeed,” says Kuill. “Very impressively, I might add.”

Amusement bubbles in your stomach as you watch the children clammer around the fencing, fighting over positions.

You catch Kuill’s eyes. _“Someone_ told these kids about how we’d sing to herd animals.” You wink at Winta. “Now they won’t quit harassing me.”

“Come on, sing!”

“Sing!”

“Yeah!”

You groan. “See?”

Kuill chuckles. “I guess you’re bound to oblige them then.” Kuill motions out into the distance. “That way, several of the blurgs have been free-roaming.” He looks up into your eyes. “If you can bring them in, you’ll accomplish two things. First, you’ll save us time rounding them up. Second, you’ll delight six very curious children.”

The kids giggle amongst themselves.

“Hmf, fine.” You lower your hat, crossing your arms tightly across your chest. “Nooo problem.” You stride forward, climbing and sitting on top of a wooden fence line, facing the direction Kuill indicated.

The first high-pitched melody startles even you as it reverberates through the environment, sending the kids into raucous laughter.

Grinning ear to ear, you continue, cycling through the list of melodies and patterns you know like the back of your hand. The kids begin ribbing you when, after a few minutes, no blurgs can be seen.

“Hey now,” you chuckle. “I’ve never tried this on a blurg before!”

“Look!” Winta shrieks, climbing up on the fence beside you. Sure enough, in the distance, you burst into laughter at the sight of several blurgs slowly sauntering towards the homestead. 

“See kids?” You grin. “They’re just lazy, but they’re coming!” You slide down off of the fence line, striding several yards forward, still cycling through your list of melodies. It is haunting, hearing the tunes echoing back at you. If you closed your eyes and ignored the heat, it was almost like being back on Sularia. Almost. 

Now closing in on the homestead, the blurgs break into a run, and you twist around, flashing the children a self-satisfied smirk. “See? It works!”

Kuill chuckles. “You have been of great assistance.” Giggling, the kids clap as you take a playful bow. Ruffling their hair as you walk past them, you leave them behind with Kuill to watch the Blurgs move in.

Marching in the direction of Kuill’s house, you sigh at the sight of Cara and Din resting up against the building, observing you walk up. Tucking your hands in your pockets, you groan inwardly, preparing for their jests. Feigning nonchalance, you lazily kick your feet out as you walk. 

Cara slow claps. “Well done.” She folds her arms back up, smirking as she leans back against the building. “Indeed, a voice blurgs go crazy for.” 

“Hey-” you tilt your hat up, feigning irritation- “I did it for the kids, and the kids only. Not so I could be ribbed by you lot.” 

“Is that what you’re going to do on Keolith?” Cara raises an eyebrow. “Herd people into the casinos with your voice?”

“Keolith?” You blink. “Oh, so Mando told you then, huh?” You toss him a sharp glare, eyes meeting his dark visor. You wonder how detailed he was with your story. None of the events had exactly been in your control, but still… the state the Mandalorian discovered you in on Taek… not something you are exactly proud of.

“Yeah,” Cara’s tone takes on an edge of concern, replacing the sarcasm from before. “What’s a kid like you going to Keolith for?”

You crinkle your nose. “First of all, I’m not a kid and haven’t been one for a very long time. Secondly, I _know_ what I’m doing.” You shouldn’t be defensive, but you… you have your reasons for going there; ones you aren’t too keen on explaining.

To enter Kuill’s house, you have to pass right by the Mandalorian. You try and ignore him, but the Mandalorian’s voice freezes you mid-stride.

“Keolith’s only one step up from Nar Shaddaa,” he rasps, “and that’s not saying much. You- you’ll be in over your head there.” 

A slight sigh slips out from between your lips. Flashing him a confident smirk, you let the lazy outer rim accent thicken with your words. “Hey, don’t worry!” You fling your arms out. “I’ve already survived Nar Shaddaa, so Keolith will be a breeze!”

He remains silent, angling his helmet to the side in that curious, lothcat way.

“Trust me,” you chuckle, “I’ve _worked_ the casinos in Nar Shaddaa. Dealing cards, singing, dancing…” You cringe, thinking back to the days when you answered to the Hutts…and… _others._ “Stars, nothing can scare me after Nar Shaddaa.” 

“Hmf,” Din turns his head away, and you know you haven’t convinced him.

“Aw, come on-” you elbow his side, grinning when he stiffens- “haven’t I proven I can take care of myself?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on!” you growl. “Who got your Beskar butt away from Marek?”

He takes a step forward, towering over your face. _“I_ did.”

“Oh _ho!”_ you mockingly laugh, stumbling back and staring up at him incredulously. _“Really? Who_ saved you from that Bateran?”

 _“I_ killed it.” He takes another step forward, and you take another step back.

“Damn it, Din!” You lean forward and tap the back of your hand against his armored chest, but he does not move. “Give me _some_ credit! I’ve gotten myself out of a lot of scraps over the years, all _without you!”_

“Sure,” he snaps, voice remaining low and even.

“Yeah! Like on Nar Shaddaa!” your voice continues to rise. You are completely and utterly irked by that snotty, mocking tone of his. “Big dude came at me from out of the dark. Took my guitar-” you make a swinging motion over your head- “POW! Splintered that thing in a thousand pieces, right over his head. And I’m here to tell the tale.” You grin up at him, throwing both hands on your hips.

“And if you didn’t have the guitar?”

“I- I would have… figured, um, something out!”

You glare daggers straight up into his visor. Hell, you might not be able to read his face, but he can read yours. 

And you will use _every_ muscle in it to show him _exactly_ what you think right now.

“Not to interrupt… whatever this is-” you flash Cara a scowl, blatantly ignoring the extreme amusement in her expression- “but, hey, I’ll be here another day or two. I’d be willing to teach you some self-defense techniques; fighting stances.” 

You blink, then beam with delight when her offer sinks in. “That’d be great! I’ve learned a lot over the years, but I’m always open to learning more.” You raise an eyebrow up at the Mandalorian, still towering above your head. _“She_ believes in me.” 

“We’ll see.” Cara chuckles.

\-------

 _“OOF!”_

You hit the ground, air evacuating your lungs. “Cara!” you gasp, letting your head fall back in the sand. “Stars, I thought you were going to _help_ me, not _kill_ me!”

“Your defenses are weak,” Cara barks. “Most attackers will be bigger than you. You have to learn their points of weakness and exploit them.”

“Uhf.” You slowly rise up from the dirt, terribly grateful hardly no one is at the homestead right now to watch you eat dirt _over and over again._ “Look, Cara, I’m good at a few things. I have swift reflexes, so I can avoid punches and swings. And I’m a fast runner.” You grin. “Really, really fast.”

Cara doesn’t look too impressed. “You need to learn _my_ techniques.” She crosses her arms. “You can’t always run away.”

You sigh, knowing you’re about to eat dirt again. “Fine.”

“Right, so, again, if someone grabs from behind, like this-”

“Okay-”

“Take your hand here-”

“Right-”

“Pivot here- Great! See?” Cara steps back. “At full strength, you would have broken free, for real.”

You grin brightly. “Well, let’s try full-strength then!”

You shriek, Cara’s arms yanking you backwards, locking in tightly around you. You fall over to the ground, coughing as Cara’s knee keeps you pinned down.

“I-” you cough- “I wasn’t _ready!”_

“Kid,” Cara sighs, shaking her head, “it’s a _surprise_ attack. You’ll never just _be_ ready.”

You push Cara off of you, sitting up with a hand to your head. _“I_ think you just want to bully me.”

“Well, not going to lie, that is fun, too.”

A smile cracks your face, which Cara returns.

“Hey, we can just rest now,” she says, sitting down beside you in the dirt. “And for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing pretty okay.”

“Well, thank the Maker!” You let your eyes sweep the scenery before you. “Really though,” you turn to smile at Cara, “thanks for this. I do appreciate it. You’re actually _helping_ me instead of just _doubting_ me, like _some_ people.”

Cara lets out a rich laugh. “He means well.”

“Hmf.” You crinkle your nose, straightening your hat back on your head. “Maybe.” Movement from the homestead distracts you from your conversation. You watch as Omera walks out from one of the structures. The Mandalorian emerges from Kuill’s building, meeting her halfway. You blink, watching curiously, as Din takes her hands in his.

“Are they together?” you blurt. 

Cara chuckles. “If he was _smart,_ they would be.” She turns and looks at you, an eyebrow raised. “But no, not that I know of. Just friends.”

“Oh.” You bite your lip. “Yeah, you’re right. They should be… She’s incredible.”

“Well, maybe you can tell him that.”

“…right.”

“Come on,” Cara chuckles, standing and nudging you with her foot. “Let’s try again.”

\-------

You do try again.

Again, you eat dirt.

Peeling yourself up off the ground, you groan in agony. You open your mouth to whine, but your words are cut short when your eyes lift to meet shining Beskar, posed several yards away, fingers hooked on his belt.

“Did you come out here just to judge me?” you grumble, wiping away the dirt from your pants. You hear the _crunch-crunch_ of sand under boots as he moves in closer.

“Hey, in her defense-” Cara smirks- “I’m actually impressed with her improvement.”

The Mandalorian stops and angles his head to the side, focusing his gaze up and down your dirt-caked clothing. “If you say so,” he rasps through the vocoder, tone thick with doubt.

“Yeah,” you give him a sly look. “I could escape even a _Mandalorian,_ I bet.”

“Really?” He crosses his arms, slowly, _deliberately._

You shift back on one foot, choosing your positioning very _carefully._

“Really.”

“Hmm.”

A flash of movement to the right. 

You launch to the left. A mistake. He’s jumping left; he’s fooled you. Gloves grip your shoulders, jerking you backwards. You twist, spinning and wiggling, but it’s no use. He’s locked his arms around you in a death-grip.

“Cara!” you yelp. “Kill him for me!”

“Kriff!” she barks, wiping tears from her eyes. “I’m too… too busy- _laughing!"_

The Mandalorian grunts as you fight against his steely grip. “You talk big, _Ka’r’ika,”_ he growls in your ear, “for someone so small.”

You stop fighting, a plan hatching in your head. Resting the back of your head against his chest, you strain to glare up at him at your odd angle. His grip slightly relaxes.

“Din Djarin!” you grunt. _“E chu ta!”_

You pick both feet off the ground, your weight slipping you down out of his grip. Crumbling in the dirt, you roll backwards, between his legs, and go flying across the terrain.

“S-see, Cara!” you shout. “My way… running… _works!”_

You leap over a stack of containers, landing wrong on the other side. Your feet fight to find a grip in the shifting, slipping sand. You stumble up, but a weight, a _yank_ hauls you back down. You tussle, but a firm grip keeps your back secured against the ground.

“K- karkin’… he-hell… _D-Din!”_

A deep, baritone chuckle slips out from under his helm. “Running works-” he hovers over you, leaning in closer- “till you _slip.”_

His- _his helmet._

You could lift your head and practically _kiss it._ You blink up at him, words evacuating your brain with a _swoosh._

“I- um…” You push up at him. “…Y-you win.”

He reels off of you, leaping to his feet in a blink of an eye. You’re slower to react, utterly taken off-guard by the sharp stab in your gut. Your face bursts into flames. You use one of the crates to pull yourself up, avoiding looking at the Mandalorian at all costs.

Which is hard to do when his gloves wrap tightly around your waist from behind, assisting you in standing up.

“U-uh,” you pull away, rushing straight towards Kuill’s house without a look back. “Th-thanks! Gotta, ya know, _wash up!”_

That- that flutter, that _stab_ in your stomach.

Oh.

Oh _no._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I hope you enjoyed this beast of a chapter. It didn't feel right splitting it in two, so I took the extra time to write it all... It turned into a double chapter.
> 
> Please let me know what you think with a comment on this chapter! I bled for this one. lollll
> 
> Couple notes; feel free to ask me anything in the comments! I always answer here or on tumblr (@wille-zarr).
> 
> Also, Kuill lives! Hurray! Never should have died, so yeeted that right out of my good ol' fanfiction canon. And Omera! I was so excited to include her. She's AMAZING.
> 
> Also, the singing-to-herd-animals thing is the real deal! Look up kulning, though it is called many things in different regions.
> 
> Last note, I took, like, one advanced linguistics course in college. Using my limited knowledge, and spending hours staring at a Mando'a translation chart, I created the word "Ka'r'ika" (kah-ree-kah) which poooosibly works following the rules of Mando'a. I'm sorry; I'm just a bit tired of the overuse of "cyrare". Who wants to give me their best guess of its meaning? (No, it isn't "brat".) ;)


	6. Not to a Mandalorian's Standards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You must make a challenging decision concerning your arrangement with Din, but all is threatened when old dangers arise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated T for violence; language; angst

_“Tell you what, Starlight-” your father’s eyes twinkle down at you- “there’s no better place in the galaxy to make a tough decision than on the back of a speeder bike, going faster than your mother would ever approve.”_

Great advice, Papa. 

Too bad that advice is about to get you killed.

Though, you _do_ have a _slight_ suspicion that when he told you “fast”, he never meant _quite_ this fast.

But then again, knowing your dad, maybe he did.

“Oh-” you reach up, wiggling your goggles down into position- _“blast it.”_ Gritting your teeth tightly together, you accelerate the speeder bike, shooting over the dried desert landscape of Arvala-7. 

The cool evening air prickles the exposed parts of your face like a thousand sharp needles sinking into your skin, but the discomfort doesn’t distract you. You stare straight ahead, focused only on the tangled thoughts rolling back and forth in your brain in a jumbled, glued-together mess.

_“Running away? You’re good at that.”_

Faster. _Faster._

If you could just go _faster_ , maybe the voices would fall behind, leave you alone.

You lean forward on the accelerator, pushing the speeder bike to its absolute limits. The old bike begins to vibrate under your body, rattling as if threatening to blow apart in a thousand pieces. If you were still that adrenaline-seeking teenager, you might would take that as a challenge.

But _hey_ , you’ve cheated death this long. It’d be a shame to lose the game at this point…

That and Cara’s the last person you’d want to upset if you destroy her bike.

You notice a cliff-wall looming in the horizon, rapidly approaching at the speed with which you are traveling. With a sharp hiss, you slam on the brakes, bracing, squeezing your eyes tightly together as you spin around in tight circles. 

One…

Two...

Three…

Four spins.

You stop. 

You don’t fight the grin that stretches across your face.

“Banthaspit! _Hell yeah.”_ You peel the goggles off your face, harshly rubbing your eyes with a dust-encrusted hand. “If I wasn’t forced into hiding, the Keolith racing circuit wouldn’t know what hit it!” you snort.

With a sigh, you kick one leg over the speeder bike, positioning your body sideways on the seat. You force yourself to slowly exhale, shivering as all of the tension pent up within you tiptoes its way up your spine, releasing out into the fresh open air.

A temporary relief. Your stress rushes back in droves to fill the void.

“All wound up. You’re all wound up,” you mutter under your breath, “for _no reason!”_

With a groan, you flop backwards … wildly flailing your arms as you fall back against the open air.

 _“YIPE!”_ you squeak, sliding right off the bike and landing back on the ground below with a sharp oof. Groaning pathetically, you rest your head back against the dirt. 

_Well, at least no one saw that._

You’re not sure how long you lie that way. Not long enough, if your opinion means anything. Eventually, you gather enough motivation to crack one eye open and grimace up at the darkening sky.

All of this- this _melodrama!_ All because some _Mandalorian_ warrior _pinned you to the ground?_ With his _body?!_

…

Oh, _shit._

A Mandalorian kicked your ass and called you a brat.

_You’re done for._

Your face explodes into flames. You know yourself all too well… You crave the _mysterious_ , the _exciting_ … all of which your proximity to the curious, cryptic Mandalorian has brought you _more_ than an abundance of.

You can no longer ignore the red flags _ding-ding-dinging_ in your head.

Hell.

It would probably be a… _bad idea_ … to travel in close quarters with the Mandalorian. Not with your overactive imagination working overtime hours. Besides, when you made the deal to travel with Din, you had no idea a _child_ would be involved. 

Those dark, piercing eyes of the Mandalorian’s son appear before you, along with a _pang_ , a _squeeze_ in your chest. 

If…if a bounty hunter tracked you down on the _Razor Crest_ \- the child… he could be hurt and…and-

Grinding your teeth, you dig your nails into the palms of your hands until you are sure you _must_ be drawing blood.

_No. Never again._

You need to talk with Din.

You know what you must do.

\-------

Pulling back up to the homestead, you are met by a herd of stampeding whomp rats, also known as the Sorgan children.

“She’s back!”

“Hello!”

“We’ve been looking for you!”

“Whoa, whoa-” you toss your hands up- “One at a time, will ya?” You crack a grin. “I haven’t been this popular since a Hutt promised me his eternal love.”

“Huh?” 

“What’s a Hutt?”

“Ah,” you laugh, kicking your leg over the speederbike, “I’m only joking.”

“Look, Ms. Cara, she’s back with your speederbike!”

You tear your eyes upwards, inwardly cringing as you watch Cara approaching.

“Um, look, Cara,” you laugh, rubbing your arm up and down. “I-I hope you don’t mind that I borrowed your bike, um…”

Cara crosses her arms, eyeing you with a pointed expression.

Oh, _Hutt fudge._

“You wouldn’t hurt me in front of children!” You bounce back, placing the bike between you and Cara, ignoring the children’s shrieks of laughter.

Cara takes a few steps forward, inspecting her speederbike with a few brief glances. “I suppose it’s still in one piece… You sure left in a hurry.” Rubbing her hands across the handlebars, she continues inspecting the bike. “Didn’t have a chance to finish your _self-defense_ lesson with Mando.”

Maker!

_For the love of all that is holy, Cara-_

“Wait-” she smirks- “are you _blushing?”_

KARKING HELLS!

“I’m. _not. blushing._ ” you hiss through your teeth. 

“She’s turning RED!” Birdie shrieks.

“But why?” Winta asks. “I’m confused.”

“I’m _not!”_ Your voice cracks along with your composure.

_Blast you, Cara!_

If Cara wasn’t capable of twisting you up like a Bothanian Pastry, you’d have some _choice words_ right about now.

“It’s red from-from racing this bike against the wind- is all!” You knit your brows and cross your arms tightly across your chest. “Come on, kids-” you wave your hand to the side, your strained voice giving yourself away- “I’m… I’m sure your parents don’t want you out after dark.”

“I’m so confused.” Winta sighs, trotting towards the huts with the five other children marching along behind her.

Birdie pauses behind the rest. Finally, he twists around and races back to you. Throwing his arms around your legs, he grins up at you with his adorable little missing-tooth smile, turning your heart to _mush._

“See you at the bonfire!” As quickly as he threw his arms around you, he spins around and dashes away.

“Bonfire?” You raise an eyebrow at Cara.

“Yeah,” she sits back against the seat of her bike, checking over the instrument gages. “The villagers’ idea.” Cara flashes you a quick glance. “They always do this when a visitor arrives, me or Din. I do have to say, for a bunch of country folk-” Cara smirks- “they sure know how to have fun.”

Celebration. Stars, you haven’t attended a party of any kind in months! Parties were usually a thing of business for you on Nar Shaddaa. A way to make connections, play politics, earn some extra cash- whatever. The point is, they were rarely enjoyable. At times, they were downright _miserable._

Maybe that association will change tonight. Yes. Yes, you will have fun; you will relax. No use getting all worked up over the conversation you must have with Din tonight…

Which is easier said than done.

“Well,” you sigh, throwing both hands on your hips and meandering away, “guess I better get cleaned up then.” You let your eyes sweep the homestead yard, noticing, sure enough, a bonfire is being constructed several yards away from Kuill’s hut. But more importantly-

No sign of Mando, _thank the stars._

You aren’t prepared to face him just yet after that, um, _tussle_ earlier…

“Sorry about giving you a hard time.”

You twist back around at Cara’s voice.

“At least, I’m sorry for doing it in front of little ears.” Cara shrugs, but she is hardly hiding the amusement etched in her eyes.

You snort. “Don’t lie.” Rolling your eyes, you spin around, marching determinedly towards Kuill’s hut. “See you tonight.”

\-------

“YIPE!”

“Look, I’m sorry!” 

“Fu-… uh, um, I mean, _stars!”_ You clutch your scalp, wincing against the relentless barrage of brush strokes. You hear a snort from behind where you sit.

“You don’t exactly _sound_ sorry, Omera.” You tilt your head backwards to find Omera, a hand on one hip, a brush in the other, shaking her head in defeat.

“I think the easiest option-” Omera angles her head to the side- “would be to just cut out the tangled bits.” 

“Kriff,” you whisper under your breath, absent-mindedly tightening the bathrobe Omera lent you around your waist. “Well, still better than another twenty minutes of this _torture.”_ You pout your lips like a child. 

“Why is it so tangled?”

Twisting around in the chair, your eyes find Winta in the corner of the room, braiding her hair with a dark green ribbon. 

“Eh-” you toss her a smirk- “I don’t think you’re ready to hear about Taek just yet.”

“Hmf.” Omera grunts. “Would this _Taek_ story also explain why one side of your hair is a good bit shorter than the other?” You feel Omera’s fingers rake through the ends of your hair, tugging when they reach a tangle. “Look at that! It’s a good three inches shorter!”

A bright grin stretches across your face. “No, that’s a different story altogeth- _OUCH!”_

“Sorry!” The amusement in Omera’s voice is thinly veiled. “Get my scissors, Winta.”

“Bloody hells, Omera!” you hiss under your breath. “ _Why_ does everyone here take such enjoyment in tormenting me?” You lower your brow when you are met with a melody of snickers. 

“What,” Omera laughs, “have the children been giving you a tough time? Or Cara? Din?”

_Din._

You could really use your own Beskar helmet right about now. You feel the entirety of the blood in your body blast up to your face, radiating warmth at just the mere _mention_ of his name. 

It’s like the longer you avoid him, the more embarrassed you grow.

Tucking your face under the collar of the bathrobe, you are met with the sharp _rap_ of scissors against your head.

_“Hey!”_

“Head up. Do you _want_ straight hair?”

“Not if you’re going to keep doing that!” You crinkle your nose. “Have you even _cut_ hair before?”

“No.”

“Maker!”

At the threat of being smacked with scissors again, you decide it is your best bet to remain perfectly still. Silently listening as Omera and Winta rattle off about what she should wear to the bonfire and what games the children could play, you feel the tension drain off your shoulders. It sounds just like a conversation you and your mother might have had once… The air grows thick, and you let your eyes slip closed, breathing deeply, imagining the room you sat in was that of your Sularian home… 

A tug on your sleeve from a little hand rips you out of your reverie. 

“What are you going to wear?”

“Hmm?... What? Oh.” You blink, struggling to gain back your composure. Your eyes focus in on the little face in front of you. 

“Um, I guess what I always wear,” you sigh. “…Don’t have any other clothes.” A teasing smirk tickles at the corner of your mouth. “A _krayt dragon_ ate them all up.”

Winta bursts into giggles. “It did _not!”_

“Nah, maybe not.”

“You could wear a dress of mine.” Omera interjects.

“Really?” Your eyes widen in delight. “Um, I- uh, could I have one with sleeves?”

Better safe than sorry… You can’t risk questions about your forearm tattoos. Besides, if Cara and Din recognized them… things would turn, no doubt, a wee bit awkward.

“Of course! And just in case you wanted to-” Omera’s voice takes on a knowing tone- “Din and Cara will be heading into the nearest outpost tomorrow to buy up supplies before Cara heads off.” Her voice softens. “You could go along with them and buy anything you nee-”

“Blaster,” you yank around in the chair, ignoring the yelp of frustration from Omera. “Need one like-” you frown- _“yesterday.”_

“Fine, fine.” Omera lowers her brows. “Now, please, could you just keep your head straight?”

“Haven’t I been?”

\-------

You step out of the protective darkness of Kuill’s home, grinning brightly to discover the homestead yard bounding with life. The flames of the bonfire dance, bobbing back and forth from one log to another, casting a flickering golden haze over everything in its vicinity. Chairs and colorful blankets are spread out, circling the fire. Smiling, you watch with delight as the children race around underfoot, their parents shooing them away from the tables overflowing with food. 

_Speaking of food,_ the wafting scent of it carries along with the light nighttime breeze, triggering your stomach into growling like a Rancor. With a wistful sigh, you begin to walk forward. 

But, oh _dear._

To get to the food, you must pass by Kuill, Cara, and _Din_ , who’s standing against the wall of a hut, his armor gleaming reflected golden light. You don’t think they’ve noticed you… yet.

Stars, _stars, stars!_ You haven’t prepared a mask for this. _You aren’t ready to face him!_

Gulping a deep breath of air, you rip your eyes away, pretending to be otherwise occupied with the starry sky. 

Blast it all! How could you have been so manipulative, so charismatic on Nar Shaddaa and yet fail so miserably _now?_

Damn, you’re out of practice!

Carefree.

Confident.

Yeah, _that’s_ what you’ll be. With a sharp nod of the head, you settle for a self-assured expression, hoping it’d be a solid enough cover, at least strong enough to resist any ribbing from Cara.

You instinctively reach up to your brow line to grab at what would have been your hat brim to lower it. Cringing, you stare at your open fingers. You really miss the protection of the hat… You feel… _vulnerable_ without it.

Again, you’re beginning to more and more understand the appeal of a helmet. 

“Wait, look!” One of the voices of the children interrupts your stride. “She looks like a _mom!”_

“Hey,” you snort, crossing your arms, “what’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

Your eyes widen with an unease only children with no filter are capable of eliciting as they corral you, inspecting your new appearance with an intense, terrifying scrutiny.

“Stars!” You back up a bit. “It’s just a skirt! Please be kind!” you chuckle and kneel down, ruffling up the hair of the littlest boy. Your face softens as you take note of the Mandalorian’s son peeking at you from behind the children, a bit shyer than the rest. Smiling, you give him a little wink, stealing a little grin out of him.

“Enjoy their fascination while it lasts.” Omera chuckles as she walks up, resting her hands on her daughter’s shoulders. “They shower new people with attention until another new face shows up and steals the spotlight. Din was the favorite until you arrived.”

“So then, I stole you guys from the Mandalorian, did I? I’m cooler than a Mandalorian!” You chuckle with the kids as you stand back up. You tighten the knot on the front of your blouse, uncomfortable with a sudden sensation of being _watched._

You know, you can just _feel_ , that the Mandalorian is _staring_ at you.

Oh hells.

“But-” Birdie frowns, tugging on your skirt- “you can’t fight in that!”

“Fight?” You jerk your head back, trying to make sense of his words. “You planning to fight me or something?”

Giggles.

“No, Kelsa saw you with Cara. Said she beat you up. We all wanted to watch.”

“Yeah… well.” You feel your cheeks flame when a bark of laughter reaches your ears. 

“ _Cara!”_ you shout, spinning around on your heel and staring daggers in her direction.

“Sorry!”

You are about to shoot off a snotty reply when your eyes are drawn, magnetized to the singeing glare of the Mandalorian’s visor. You instantly shut your mouth. 

He stares you down, arms crossed in a relaxed manner, as he leans up against the wall beside where Cara sits. You suddenly feel very, _very_ small.

Oh… Stars.

You frown at Din, shifting your eyes away from him. You immediately slip back into your carefully crafted persona, shaking off your unease. 

“Yeah, well, I’ve never been much of a fighter.” You twist around and face the children. “I’m… not very strong, much like you lot.” You sigh, pointing a finger at yourself. 

You carefully tiptoe through your words. “I’ve busted my nose, broken bones, dislocated my shoulder-” you motion to each of these areas- “trying to fight with _these_.” Lifting both of your hands up, you clench them into fists. 

Feeling a sly smile tickling at the corner of your mouth, you continue. “I think you’ll find the best fighter-” you let the smile grow- “uses _this_.” Pointing at your head, you chuckle and cross your arms.

“That’s fine and all-” Birdie frowns- “but I don’t see how your _head_ could defeat the Mandalorian’s rocket dart things in a fight.”

“Rocket… _darts?_ ” You gulp. The things he hides in that armor... You steal a glance over at Din. His head is angled in that curious manner, watching your interaction with the children with great interest. You tear your gaze away, fearing your face would warm if you stared any longer.

“She means using your smarts, silly!” Winta groans.

“She is correct.” The new voice in the conversation belongs to Kuill. Grunting with exertion, he hobbles along with his cane to join the circle. The children immediately fall silent, listening reverently to the wise Ugnaught.

“Fighting isn’t everything.” Your face grows solemn with the respect that Kuill seems to elicit anytime he speaks. “Sometimes,” he grunts, “the most dangerous power… is held by the _smallest_ among us.”

The way everyone sneaks glances with each other, you can’t help but feel everyone is in on a secret behind Kuill’s words. Discomforted, you clear your throat, letting your lazy outer rim accent slide forward. 

“Gotta secret weapon, Kuill?”

Kuill’s chuckle is interrupted by a frowning Birdie. 

“Maybe…” Birdie whines. “But we still wanted to watch a fight.”

You snort. “Stars, these kids are _bloodthirsty.”_

“Maybe if we asked _politely_ , children,” Kuill grunts, “the _Mandalorian_ would showcase some of his fighting prowess for us.”

The children burst into pleas and cheers, turning every ounce of their attention to tormenting Din into obliging them.

“It would be-” Kuill motions his cane at Din- “our _honor_ to observe.”

Flopping his head back against the wall, the Mandalorian stares up at the sky. You bite back a grin when you hear him release a heavy, long-suffering sigh, detectable even at a distance. 

“Stand back.”

The children and villagers fall silent, crowding together, as he shifts forward, stalking away from the building. Only the heavy _clank, clank_ of his Beskar armor is audible, echoing in the thin night air. Everyone watches in anticipation, curious as to what the Mandalorian has in mind. 

Plopping down on a blanket spread out on the ground, you cross your legs underneath yourself. A light dusting of movement against your hand startles you forward a bit. You gasp lightly, mouth falling open, as the Mandalorian’s son, _the baby_ , crawls up beside you.

“Oh. Hello,” you chirp, taking his little three-fingered hand into your palm. “Um, ready to watch your Papa show off?”

He responds with a giggle.

Those large expressive eyes… _stars!_ You want to turn into a pool of sugary liquid right here, right on this blanket. 

Sweet face.

Sweet laugh.

The dagger twists in your heart. Grasping onto the necklace around your neck, you swallow hard, squeezing your eyes tightly together before opening them again.

You can’t think about her right now… not without losing it. 

As if sensing your turmoil, the baby’s ears droop to the side.

“Don’t mind me,” you mumble. You take the baby into your arms, squeezing lightly. “L-let’s watch.” 

You watch as Din freezes a good distance from the bonfire. “Cara,” he shouts with a wave. 

You bite your lip, bursting with excitement when you see he has that _big-ass_ rifle of his at the ready. He rests it pointing downwards, angling his head towards Cara as he crosses his gloved hands over the butt of the rifle.

You snicker.

_Look at him._

Trying so hard to look _bored._ You know good and well he is _thrilled_ to show off for everyone. You’ve seen his bathroom. Any man that uses as many hair conditioners as him would _have_ to be a secret show-off.

Not to mention his sparkling, eye-catching Beskar.

“ _Diva_ ,” you snicker under your breath.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the start of the show.

“Toss!”

Cara heaves back, launching something small and round into the air.

Din pulls back. 

Rifle to shoulder. 

Aim.

_**Blast.** _

A thousand sparkling, rainbow-colored lights rain down out of the night sky from the explosion, just like fireworks. You passively join the clapping and cheering, smirking to yourself as the Mandalorian continues raining sparkling shots in the sky as quickly as Cara can throw them.

You glance downwards, sharing a knowing look with the baby.

_Yup._

_Dad’s definitely a show-off._

You think he agrees.

After several minutes of this display, Din has adequately appeased the children’s lust for excitement and entertainment. Omera and the other two pairs of parents shoo the children towards the awaiting food. You watch from a distance as Din unloads his gun, striding towards Cara.

With a sigh, you stand, holding the baby against your chest, smiling softly when Winta motions to take him.

“I’ll take him to Momma.” Winta chirps. “I can feed him!”

“I’m sure he’ll appreciate that. Pretty sure I had his stomach growling,” you chuckle, throwing Winta and the baby a quick wink.

You clasp your hands tightly together behind you and walk over to the side of Kuill’s hut shrouded in dark shadow. A longing smile faintly brushes across your lips as you watch the commotion centered around the tables of food. Sighing wistfully, you lean your shoulder up against the wall of the hut.

This is the closest you’ve been to recreating your childhood peace in years…

There’s a part of you that wants to ask if you could hang around for a bit... But the child you used to be on those snow-covered mountains is long-gone. You cannot replace what you have lost, what’s been taken.

Besides, you would only bring danger to these people if you stayed.

You _have_ to move on.

The _clank, clank_ of metal rips you out of your deep introspection. You spin around on your heel, unease building in your chest as the Mandalorian strides towards you, his rifle resting carelessly across his arms.

_Okay. Okay. Don’t blush. Um, just… try not think about him on top of you._

_Wait, that sounded bad. KRIFF. Now you’re surely blushing!_

_QUICK. SABBAAC FACE._

You bite the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to focus on the present. As he moves closer, you didn’t need to see his face to know that a smug expression graced his face. You could see it in his _stride_.

Smirking, you cross your arms and lift your chin at him. 

“Not too shabby, Din.” You raise an eyebrow when he stops to stand beside you, letting his weapon flip to rest the end of it on the ground. “You handle that big-ass _rifle_ pretty well, I’d say.”

He grunts, rolling his shoulders forward, only enhancing his intimidating presence that much further. Leaning against the weapon, he tilts his head sideways to stare down at you. 

“ _Pulse_ rifle,” Din rumbles, amusement lacing his tone. “And as I said before, you handled my _rifle_ pretty well yourself, Ka'r’ika.” 

“But certainly-” you lower your eyebrows- “not to a _Mandalorian’s_ standards.”

“Nope.” He jerks his head to the side.

“Ah well!” You sigh and throw your arms out. “Well, then, were my _fighting skills_ at least up to Mandalorian standards?” You bite your lip to resist the smirk tickling at the corners of your mouth.

A deep, raspy chuckle slips out from underneath his helm. He leans over you as he walks past.

“Depends on which Mandalorian you ask.”

Oh.

Oh _Maker!_

_MAKER!_

_TACTICAL ERROR!_

Slapping a hand on your forehead, you spin around to rush away from the hut, deeper into the hidden darkness as you berate yourself for mindlessly flirting _yet. again._ You would have run off to escape again, but the wafting food lures you into turning around and staying. 

That, and you’re not about to steal Cara’s bike again.

With no Mando in sight, you grab a bowl of stew. Sneaking over to an unoccupied blanket beside Omera and Cara, you curl your legs up under yourself…

…And you practically _bury_ your nose in the bowl to hide your face when Din sits beside you to be near his son. The baby gleefully reaches his little arms out for his father who takes over feeding him.

Kriff! How could this evening get any more awkward!

“So, tell me,” Cara asks, “why’d you decide to leave Nar Shaddaa?” 

You drop your spoon, coughing as you choke on the stew.

“OH-” cough- “I, uh, you know-” cough- “got… um-” cough- _“…tired of it.”_

_“Really?”_

“…Really.”

Wow. That had to be the lamest lie you’ve ever told.

Cara stares at you, mouth tight as if considering whether or not to prod you further. Din is leaning sideways, occupied with his son, but you know _good_ and _well_ he is listening to _every_ word.

You return Cara’s stare, unflinching, daring her to question you further. You’ll lie _much better_ now that you’re prepared, thank you very much.

“Nar Shaddaa?” 

You have never been more grateful for an interruption! You shift your eyes over to Omera. 

“I’ve never heard of it.”

You snort, perhaps a little harsher than you intended. 

“Yeah, well-” you pretend to be occupied with something in your stew- “no surprise. A lady such as yourself would never work there.” You place your bowl down and tuck your knees up under your chin. “Hutt and syndicate casinos… _Enough said.”_

“Oh.”

You feel a bit guilty for coming on so strongly in response to a harmless statement. You feel responsible to lighten the mood, show Omera you aren’t upset. Shaking your head, you flash a manufactured grin. “Stars, you should be _grateful_ to not know what Nar Shaddaa is like… or wow!” You pretend to gag. “The _Hutts!”_

“I’ll drink to that.” Cara shrugs, swigging back something the Sorgan villagers called “Oriot Juice” that smelled _suspiciously_ of alcohol.

“Cara…” Omera chides.

_“What?”_

Leaning back on your elbows, you chuckle. You begin mentally drawing away, leaving Omera and Cara to their fussing.

“What did you do there?” 

You rip your eyes to the right, into the unreadable visor of the Mandalorian. 

“You said something about… dealing cards?”

“Uh, yeah.” You blink, a bit taken aback. “For a short bit. I- uh- mostly performed.” You _really_ hope he doesn’t prod for more details.

He turns his head away from you, and you could have sworn you heard him mumble something under his breath.

You need to shift the topic, _fast._

“I sure do miss singing though.” You flash Din a cheeky grin. “All the attention, all on _me.”_

He makes a noise. 

“That would be in character for you.”

You stick your tongue out at him for that. “ _Anyway,_ that guitar I brought off from Taek?” You smile slyly. “Let’s just say, through some _creative finagling_ , I ‘acquired’ it hoping to sing on the streets to earn some cash.” 

Your grin plummets into a scowl. “Let’s just say that it didn’t pan out.” You cross your arms tightly across your chest. _“Cheap bastards_ ,” you grumble.

The Mandalorian _laughs_ , a deep, hearty sound.

You blink, stunned by this victory. 

A _laugh!_ Not a chuckle, you pried a full-on _laugh_ from the stoic warrior!

Din leans in towards you, pulling you out of your elation.

“Well, we aren’t much of an audience,” he rasps, voice grainy through the vocoder, “but we’d be better spectators than what Taek provided.”

You beam. “Yeah?”

He doesn’t respond, just leans over on his side, his son tucked in beside him asleep.

You clasp your hands together. “I need my guitar!”

He looks in the direction of the _Razor Crest_. “Take my key unlo-”

“Nah, don’t need to. I grabbed the guitar out of the _Razor Crest_ earlier today.”

He stares.

“But it was…”

“Yeah?”

“Locked.”

“Yeah.”

“…How?”

You blink.

“When I said I didn’t have any skills?”

He stares.

“I actually have a few…”

“…and you really should upgrade the _Crest’s_ security system.”

…

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

\-------

You can’t believe your voice or feet or _both_ haven’t given out!

Cara was right, these Sorganians know how to have a damn good party. When you provided the guitar, the villagers responded by pulling out their _own_ traditional instruments. 

For _hours_ , everyone (minus one stick-in-the-mud Mandalorian) danced, spun, twisted, frolicked, and skipped until no one could barely _move_. As fun as all the rowdy dancing was, your heart felt warm, _full_ after sharing your _own_ traditional songs: one a love ballad and the other a lullaby in the Sularian language.

 _Exactly_ what the energized children needed to calm them down and help put them to sleep.

“Thanks again,” Omera whispers as she walks past you, carrying a conked-out baby inside the hut. “Those songs were absolutely beautiful.”

You only smile.

Watching the other parents carry their children in for bed, you can’t help but feel keenly…. _bitter._

This should have been your life.

Should have been your siblings’ life.

Should have been her life.

…

Imperials, go _straight to hell._

You clench your hands into tight fists. 

“When you’ve _lived_ as many years as I have-” you jump at Kuill’s voice- “you _learn_ to recognize… patterns in _behavior.”_

“I-” you blink- “not sure wh-”

“Sadness. Anger. Loss. Fear.” He pauses to point his cane at you. “All I see in you. _You’re_ on the run.”

Your jaw drops. “N-no-”

“It’s not my place to question.” Kuill, grunting, begins to move away. “I hope you find the peace… you _seek.”_

Was…

Was it really that _obvious?!_

You’re understandably shaken up after being directly called out like that by Kuill… 

You… need some space. 

Stalking, practically _running_ , from the hut, you freeze mid-step, nearly falling over your own feet. 

There _he_ is, both arms resting atop the fence, helmet fixated on the stars. He almost looks _heroic_ with the way his cape swirls around his legs in the light night breeze.

Well…

Good time as any to have that conversation with him.

With a begrudging sigh, you fidget with your hands as you quietly tiptoe up behind the Mandalorian. He does not move or make any indication that he’s aware of your presence, though you know by now that he must.

You grab on to the post next to him. Grunting, you begin scampering up the boards to try and sit on top of the fence beside him. 

“Oh,” you growl, struggling to climb up it in a dress. “Blast this damn skir- _OOF_.”

Two firm hands grab at your waist from behind, steadying you. 

“ _Easy_ , Ka’r'ika,” his voice, low, rumbles near your ear.

His grip releases.

You squeak something incoherent, your tongue tangling up on itself. “Um-” you nervously laugh as you balance sitting on top of the fence- “uh, thanks…?” 

He leans his arms across the board right beside you, angling his helmet to stare up into your face.

“Go to bed.” He inclines his helmet in the direction of the hut. “You should rest.”

“Hmf.” You cluck your tongue. “Always telling me what to do. If you wanted me to _leave_ , you shouldn’t have helped me up here.”

He lets his visor drop to face the ground, and you can’t help but hear the sigh that slips out from under his helm. Admiring the stars glittering against his Beskar, you follow Din’s line of sight as he shifts his gaze upwards.

You bite your lip, uncertain of how to broach your pressing topic at hand...

“The stars,” you stall, “are so bright here. That’s the only thing I like about living outside the city.”

You have Din’s full attention now.

“They remind me of the eka-worms back home on Sularia.” You sigh heavily, suddenly feeling the weight of exhaustion on your shoulders. “During the darkest, _coldest_ part of winter, the worms would twist and weave the most breath-taking, _astonishing_ nets of webbing, absolutely littering the trees with them until the limbs would sag under the weight.” You wave your hand through the air, re-imagining them in your mind.

A smile brushes across your lips, and you glance upwards. “In the moonlight, the webs would sparkle like stardust. Weddings, proposals, everything.” You pause. “We all wanted it done under those glistening webs.”

Your eyes finally fall back to Din, and your heart squeezes at finding him focused on your face instead of the stars.

He glances away as if considering something.

“What?” you prod.

“…How did you escape?”

You shrug your shoulders, leaning as back as far as you could without tumbling off the fence. “Would you believe I only survived the Empire’s bombardment because I was a head-strong, disobedient child?”

He didn’t answer; just continued listening to your story with full attention.

So you continue. 

“I-I was twelve… Papa told me and my four siblings to run out the front door. Long story short, I went out the back.” 

You wrap your arms around yourself and take a deep breath. 

“Bombs dropped. I lived. They didn’t.” 

Your shoulders stoop even lower, collapsing in on yourself, and you find that you don’t have the energy to continue pretending that you’re okay- that your life hasn’t always been one big… hot… _mess._

“I- I found Grandpa c-coming up the mountain… to see… To find us. And- I was… I was running down it.” You cover your eyes with a hand. “He was the only f-family I had left... then he went and… died too.”

_Your fault._

_Your fault._

_It was all your fault._

“Stars,” you mumble under your breath, lower lip quivering as you tighten your palms against your face.

“My family… they died, too.”

You rip your face out of your hands.

“Victims of the Clone Wars.” His voice is a whisper, barely audible. 

“Well,” you sniff, roughly rubbing your eyes to hide your emotion. “I- I guess we’re not too different after all, huh?”

He shifts back on one arm, angling his body closer to yours. 

“No, I suppose _not.”_

Maker, you feel really awful about what you’re about to bring up…

“Din, we’ve… shared _a lot_ together in such a short time.” You purposely avoid looking his way.

_You have to just say it._

“You should know that I am _eternally_ grateful for the kindness you’ve shown me.” At that, you force yourself to face him. “I’d still be stuck on Taek if it wasn’t for you…”

His visor is glued to your eyes.

“Mando, I’m…I’m really eager to get to Keolith.” 

Liar.

“So, I’m… leaving with Cara tomorrow.” You are taken aback at how hard it is to form the words, the pain _squeezing_ in your chest. “Then I’ll jump on a transport.”

Silence.

“If… that’s what you wish.”

Even through the modulation, you can sense the confusion, the hesitation lacing his tone. Stars, you can’t even _bear_ to look at him! How can you explain, make him understand you have _no choice?_ His son’s _safety_ , your own stupid overactive imagination… No, it just _wouldn’t_ be a good idea to travel together.

“I’m sure you’ll be _thrilled_ anyway to get me out of your ship,” you mumble, awkwardly laughing as you push at his shoulder.

He shifts, stepping back away from the fence, away from _you._

He inclines his head to the side.

“Come here.”

Oh- _OOF!_

His gloves curl their way around your waist, and you slap your hands onto his pauldrons for balance. He drops your feet down to the ground, but his hands remain secured, glued to your waist. 

“Go to bed,” he rasps. “You need sleep.”

His hands abandon your waist, but the warmth, the _heat_ left behind burns long into the night.

\-------

“Hey!” you shout out Kuill’s window. “Wait up!”

Cursing under your breath, you continue tucking your shirt down into your pants as you stumble out the door. Standing beside the two speeder bikes, Cara and Din watch, arms crossed, as you approach. Your fingers fumble around the brim of you hat, lowering it down till your eyes are practically hidden from sight.

 _Hell_ , you feel lousy. You hardly got any sleep after the previous night’s conversation with Din. You know he is just another random _acquaintance_ , the same you are to him, but…

Oh, kriffing _fine._

You _like_ him.

You’re… you’re going to _miss_ him. 

Ah well, you’ll just have to be sure and annoy him a little extra today as a parting gift. 

“I need a ride to town.” You stop and throw your hands on your hips. “Gotta buy a few things.”

“Sure,” Cara lazily responds, throwing a leg over her bike. “More the merrier, right?”

You grin and nod. “Thanks.” You throw your leg over the seat of the second bike, flicking on various switches.

“This is going to b- _HEY!_ ”

A hand grabs your shoulder, sliding you roughly back away from the controls.

“Hold up,” the Mandalorian grumbles. “I _don’t think so.”_

“Din!” You swat at his hand. “Stop, no! Let me drive! You drive like an old man!”

“I mean, he _could_ feasibly be one, for all we know.”

“Cara-”

“Din!” you growl, tumbling off the opposite side of the bike. You leap up to your feet, but it’s already too late. Din is settled down in front of the controls, watching you with his helmet inclined to the side.  
He places a hand on his thigh and jerks his helmet towards the open seat behind him. 

“Fine.” You stick your tongue out at him and spin around on your heel. “Then I’m riding with Car-”

Cara blasts off, leaving a trail of dust wafting behind her.

Slowly, you turn back around.

Din shoves out a hand, motioning again to the empty speeder bike seat behind him.

“Kriff it,” you grumble, throwing your leg back across the seat. You let your body slip down, molding itself completely to the back of his armor. You reach up, lowering your goggles over your eyes.

“ _Fine,_ ” you bark, wrapping your arms around his middle. “ _Let’s ride.”_

He kicks the bike into gear, and with a satisfying _rev_ of the engine, away you blast into the desert horizon.

Definitely faster than expected.

“ _Guess you took my ribbing to heart,_ ” you think with a grin. You let your arms relax their grip around his midsection, resisting the urge to throw your hands up and feel the passing breeze.

His hand grabs yours, pulling it back tighter around himself.

“Fine!” you shout over the noise. “ _Mother hen.”_

He releases your hand, and you sigh, snuggling down into his cape, relaxed in the knowledge that you are safe for a few more days, _as long as you are with him._

\------- 

Din and Cara park out of the way in a side alley where the bikes should hopefully remain unnoticed and undisturbed. You walk ahead of them, staring up and down the main street of the outpost. You lift your goggles off your head, reading over the various shop store signs.

Ah, yes, you see _exactly_ what you need.

“Cara, Mando!” You turn back around. “Meet you back at the bikes later!”

“Stay out of trouble.”

You flash Din a grin. 

“Always.”

Your first stop is to pick out a few new garments to replace those that flew away for a permanent vacation with the smuggler’s crew. You’ll wait until you’ve actually settled on Keolith to replace everything, but a few undergarments, blouses, pants, and gloves, and you are good to go for the time being. You stuff these goods away in your side satchel.

It… feels strange to own things again.

Next stop: _weapons._

With a downright mischievous grin on your face, you enter the shop like a kid in a candy store.

“How can I help you?” 

“Yeah, I need a blaster pistol, preferably something small but still packs a punch.”

You pause, eyeing something out of the corner of your eye.

“And a vibroblade.”

Oh, _hell yeah._

\-------

Walking back in the direction of the speeder bikes, you turn the vibroblade over in your hands. 

“Maker! This thing’s _sick_.” You try twirling it in your hand, giving it a toss, cringing as it flies sideways. “Um, no one saw that,” you mumble, picking it back up. “Guess I’ll need a little, uh, practice.”

Lost in your own amusement, you march around the corner into the alleyway, focused only on the viroblade in your hands. 

“Hopefully, Cara and Din won’t tak-”

Wait.

Hold up.

_Who are…?_

“Hey!” you shout, throwing a hand on your hip, “I don’t know _who_ you are, but those are _not_ your bikes.” 

You pause, cringing inwardly. You may own a weapon again, it’s still a _pretty bad idea_ to smart-mouth strangers…

The blue Twi’lek male and a brown-haired human female, both cloaked in black, remain motionless, leaning against the bikes with their arms crossed.

“Uh,” you hesitate mid-stride, falling dead still. “…C-can I help you?”

The two strangers share a glance.

“It’s her?”

“It’s her.”

Oh.

…

OH _SHIT._

You launch backwards, hand flying to your holster, but before you have time to even _think_ , a blaster is trained on your head. 

“Drop the blade,” the woman barks. “And _carefully_ throw that blaster aside.”

“Shitshitshit,” you hiss through your teeth while slowly, _cautiously_ obliging the woman’s demands.

Bounty hunters. Damn it, damn it, _damn it!_

No, _no!_ You _can’t- you won’t go back! Not for him!_

“L-look, th-this has to be a misunderstanding-”

“Listen carefully,” the woman interrupts, speaking your full name aloud. “You’re the companion to the Mandalorian?”

Mandalorian… they’re… they’re not here for _you?_

You blink, mouth gaped open.

Oh, _bloody hells!_

_What has Din gotten himself into?_

“I am she,” you keep your hands pressed against the thighs of your legs. “But, specifically, which Mandalorian do you refer to? I know sev-”

“Stop being cute.” She marches over, grasping your upper arm with a steel grip.

“ _Hey!_ ” you yelp against the fingers digging into your flesh.

“Against the wall.”

She pushes you towards it, sending you stumbling over your own feet. You press your back as tightly as you can against the wall, shifting your eyes in all directions for _any_ possible escape…

_Oh, kriff kriff what do you do what do you do-_

“Listen carefully.” The woman takes a step back, crossing her arms carefully. As you stare into the eyes of what very well could be the reason for your _immediate demise_ , you force your breathing to even itself out.

Stay calm.

Stay calm.

Whatever it is, _you can talk your way out of it._

_They want Mando, not you._

“You assisted the Mandalorian in taking something that I _must_ have back.”

Oh _karabast._

They _do_ want you.

“Whu-? _Marek?_ ” you blurt, mouth gaping open a bit. “Marek’s _datachip?_ ”

“It’s not Marek’s,” the woman’s voice turns harsh. “Marek is but an employee of a crime syndicate…”

“…On _Nar Shaddaa.”_

Your blood freezes.

…

Oh. 

Oh _no_.

This….. this is _bad_.

If- if they _recognize you…_

_You **have** to talk your way out._

“Listen,” your voice turns firm, commanding. “I barely _know_ the Mandalorian. I met him on Taek. I know nothing about the chip or who he stole it for.”

“None of that matters.” The woman takes a step back. You try and hide your intense relief at the space she’s given you. You _can’t_ appear weak, not right now.

“We only wish to have it returned.”

_Somehow you seriously doubt that…_

“We can cut a deal.” The statement tumbles out of your mouth before you even realize what it is you’re saying. 

“The chip- it’s in his ship, the _Razor Crest.”_

Bloody hell if you know where it is! He wouldn’t tell you blasted _anything!_ But if you can stall these two long enough… it will give Din and Cara time to figure out what’s going on and _save your ass._

“Well-” the woman raises her eyebrow- “I suppose we know where we are going then.” She motions you towards the bike. “Drive, but keep in mind-” she waves her blaster- “ _this_ will be at you back.”

“Yeah, no problem,” you snort, “just all part of the business, right?”

_Right…_

\-------

You slow the speeder bike to a halt on the side of the _Razor Crest_ facing away from Kuill’s homestead. Though you originally whined to Din about the distance, you are now _intensely_ grateful the Mandalorian kept the ship anchored way far off from the homestead.

Keenly aware there’s a blaster pointed at your back, you step up to the ramp of the ship with a gulp.

Locked door, of course.

Thank the _Maker_ you’ve already hacked the system once before. This shouldn’t take long… unless you happen to make a few little- _oops!_ \- mistakes that cost _time_. As you walk up the ramp, inwardly, you begin cycling through the racing, rolling thoughts clambering around in your head. 

_“Stars! Where are you Din? They should have come back by now, found the speeder bikes gone… I drove slower on purpose. Do they know something’s wrong? Do they think I’m pranking them? Curse my mischievous nature! I bet they think I’m pranking them!”_

“What are you doing?” the man harshly demands.

“Uh, I- uh- don’t have a… key on me.” You throw your hands up. “But wait! I can hack the system- no problem!” You nervously laugh.

They both share a glance.

“Fine. Hurry.”

You turn back around, smirking to yourself.

_Time for a bit of stalling._

“I just have to pull on this-” _Sparks._

“Re-wire this-” _More sparks._

“Punch in this-” _Fire._

“Get back!” The woman snarls, clamping the panel protecting the wiring closed to stop the flames from growing. 

“Get. This. Door. _Open.”_

“Y-yes, sure, no problem.” You fling the panel back open and start back to work.

_Oh stars…_

You are able to stall no more than five minutes without raising suspicion. As you step back inside the _Razor Crest_ , you feel absolutely sick to your stomach. Having these Nar Shaddaa syndicate members enter this ship, this home… it’s _violating_. This ship was a place of refuge, _safety_ after your traumatic time on Taek. And here you are- with yet _another_ new tangled mess.

“In the cockpit,” you bark, stepping towards it. You are yanked backwards.

“He goes first. Then you. Then me.”

Biting your lip, you slowly nod your head.

You lead them up and over to the pilot’s seat, sitting down and punching on all the buttons you can find. “It should be… ahh… here it is! Oh wait, no….”

“What?” the woman snarls, clearly growing very agitated with your obvious game-playing.

“The chip! It’s gone!” You fake a gasp. “Let me check down in the hold!”

Not waiting for any commands, you practically _fall_ down the ladder into the hold, racing towards the far wall and punching at the buttons of Din’s holo display, feigning dismay. 

“Gone! It’s- he must have it on him! Oh, karking hells!”

“Hmm.” Her face hardens. “How _inconvenient.”_

“Sure is!” You shrug, knocking the brim of your hat back. “Look- new plan. The Mandalorian- I’m sure you heard about how he surrendered for me… at Marek’s base.” You throw your hands out to the side.

_Think, think, think._

“…So, uh, you hold me hostage. He’ll come.” You nod your head. “H-he’ll give the chip over. Especially if I talk to him.”

This- this is _bad._

Stars! This couldn’t get much worse!

The woman angles her head, eyes boring straight into your own. “Hmm, he probably won’t surrender for _you…”_

“…But maybe he will for _them.”_

You blink. 

Them.

You spin on your heel.

Oh.

_**Oh no.** _

“Hi,” Winta waves, placing the baby down on the floor. 

“Are they _bad guys?_ ” Birdie grins, pointing at the woman’s blaster.

Things just got worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YEAH SO THE STORY REALLY RAMPS UP FROM HERE
> 
> First things first, THANK YOU TO EVERY PERSON THAT LEFT A REVIEW ON THE LAST CHAPTER! Guys, I nearly CRIED at how sweet and kind they were! It REALLY pushed me, even through the challenging past few weeks, to write for YOU GUYS. Shout out to cantbelieveit, Me, The_Lord_of_Cats_o, Americs, Aoishin, WildEmu, 8Kame4, mslizziedarcy, redhouseclan, DiamondsDancing, PeonyWheeler3, ale_oop, Skye, magicopal, menma-tan, arda_ancalima, and teaofpeach FOR BEING AWESOME.
> 
> Sorry about the wait. If you don't follow me on tumblr, essentially, I had a MASSIVE move that was a MASSIVE headache, along with other issues... All tis good now, so we are back in business!
> 
> Guys, this is only _half_ of what I was planning for chapter 6! As usual, the chapter grew OUT OF HAND! So the other half will be included with chapter 7, which, you'll be thankful to know, is already mapped out and ready to be typed up! After all, I _did_ end here on a cliffhanger of sorts, so it'd be cruel to make you wait too terribly long! 😉 Let's just say chapter 7 is going to be a lot of FUN with DRAMA. (I might have laughed/cried my butt off when mapping it out...) And a lot of ANGST. 👀 I see you, my angst-loving fans. I'm here to D.E.L.I.V.E.R.
> 
> GUESSING GAME: A new character will appear in chapter 7! This character has been alluded to already in the story! Let's just say, it's NOT what you're expecting! Any guesses?
> 
> Last note, about two weeks ago, I did a clean up/edit of chapter one. As it was my first chapter, I didn't yet have a grasp on the tone/voice of the story. I cleaned it up to make it fit better with the following chapters.
> 
> ANYWAY, see you soon! Please leave feedback here or on tumblr! (@wille-zarr) (Shoutout to @sana-katarn on tumblr for inventing the term "hutt fudge" at my request. She's out here being the real MVP.)
> 
> OH, and enjoy season two of _The Mandalorian!_


	7. Kids, Cover Your Ears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not one to wait around on the Mandalorian for rescue, you begrudgingly join forces with an unlikely ally, knowing it will take all of your wit and tenacity to outsmart the threats looming against you and the children.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated M for language; canon-level violence; near-death experience; angst

_“Tell me, Mandalorian,” you laugh, letting your eyes lazily dance along the outline of his gleaming Beskar, admiring the flickering flames reflecting back against it. “I have a question.” You didn’t need a mirror to know that mischievous glint in your eyes had returned. You could simply feel it: the up-to-no-good attitude radiating from within like a blazing warning beacon._

_Happy._

_You are happy. You haven’t felt this in so long, you’re simply drunk on it._

_After several hours singing and dancing at Kuill’s homestead, your spirit- your_ _heart- are bursting with bliss, like they might just erupt wings and soar up of your body, leaving the bounds of the physical realm for the mysterious realm of the Force._

_The euphoria has pretty much eradicated any anxiousness you still felt regarding the day’s prior embarrassing events. Though, to be honest, as much fun as the dancing has been, the Spotchka is perhaps the most to blame for your loosened lips._

_Which leads you back to your question for the Mandalorian._

_He leans forward, resting both hands atop his knees, quiet, patient, and long-suffering as always when dealing with your jestering mood._

_“Mandalorian-” you drop down to your knees, directly in front of him- “dance with me.”_

_He stares, neither speaking nor moving at your request. You might have wondered if he had heard you, except that he is staring directly into your eyes… At least, you assume it’s your eyes. A bit hard to tell with the, you know, helmet and all._

_You chuckle again, rolling your eyes. “You know-” you motion circles in the air with your hands- “dancing: when two people grab hands and let the music dictate their movements?”_

_He jolts his head away, staring down at the dirt._

_“I don’t dance.”_

_You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from bursting out into laughter at the frown in his voice. But you lose the fight, the grin stretching across your face despite your best efforts. “The Mandalorian doesn’t dance.” You say it as a statement._

_He begins rapidly tapping his fingers against his thigh armor, probably hoping you’d just go away._

_No chance of that, Mando._

_With a smirk, you reach out and grab onto his upper arm, just below where his armored veneer ends, and you teasingly squeeze._

_You open your mouth to smart off again, but the words fall flat when his gloved hand slaps down on yours, pinning it in place against his bicep. Your lips part. At first you thought he might throw your hand off- maybe you broke some Mandalorian code by, you don’t know, touching him or something. But you watch, blinking, as his shoulders relax, falling back into repose._

_Yet his hand remains, holding your own hostage._

_Neither of you speak._

_Maker. This… is awkward. A running theme with your interactions, it seems._

_“Well,” you clear your throat, flashing him a cheeky grin, “that’s okay, Din. I guess you got two left feet, huh?” You release his arm, but his own hand keeps yours pinned in place. You’re not sure what to do, so you tug, relieved when he releases his hold._

_You leap to your feet, dusting your skirt off in hopes of appearing casual about the interaction. “Fine, so you don’t wanna dance-” you scrunch your nose down at him- “so I’ll just dance with Cara then.”_

_“Cara?” he grunts._

_With one last snicker, you hop away from the Mandalorian, straight to where Cara is conversing with Omera, interrupting their conversation with your request._

_“Cara, Din turned me down.” You throw both hands on your hips. “So, will you dance with me?”_

_“I think I need another Spotchka first.”_

_“Oh!” Omera laughs, grabbing both yours and Cara’s hands. “Come on!”_

_The three of you join hands, laughing and snickering as you join the others around the fire in a lively dance._

\-------

Few things bring Cara more joy than tormenting her favorite people. But what brings her the most joy? Tormenting Din. And after observing his behavior last night at the bonfire, she has plenty of ammunition to hurl his way.

“Mando,” Cara calls out, increasing her pace to catch back up to her companion. “What’s the big rush?”

This, of course, is a baited question. Cara knows _exactly_ why her Beskar-clad friend is moving faster than a Kowakian Monkey-Lizard that’s being chased by a Hutt.

And it involves one lively, plucky little _friend_ of the Mandalorian _._

And what kind of friend would _Cara_ be if she didn’t take the preverbal knife and twist it just a _little_ deeper, tricking him into taking the bait.

“ _She_ can wait, you know.”

The hitch in Din’s step brings Cara immense satisfaction. The Mandalorian, even hidden behind all that hard exterior, is damn easier to read than he thinks.

A dangerous, mysterious Mandalorian warrior- brought down by simple childish _infatuation_.

How amusing. But really not surprising.

He can don as much Beskar as he can physically strap on, harden the soft layer of human skin with an impenetrable shield. And yet, for all the advances in technology, they’ve yet to discover how to armor the heart against the blaster blot of a _crush_.

“We can’t waste our entire day here, Cara,” Din grumbles, shooting Cara a glance. “We need to get back to the homestead.”

“Don’t give me that look, Mando.”

Din shoots Cara another glare in response.

“Yeah, _that_ look.” Cara grins. The Mandalorian is no fool. And yet, even with all his experience, he really is about as _dense_ as his armor. “Are you really in a rush to return to the homestead-” Cara casually adjusts the rifle slung across her back- “or are you just fretting over your pretty little _friend?_ ”

The Mandalorian freezes mid-step.

“If you’re trying to keep it a secret, Mando-” Cara brushes past him and continues walking- “you haven’t exactly done a great job of it.”

Cara downgrades her grin to a smirk as Din’s footfall resumes behind her.

“I don’t know what that _liquid_ is the Sorganians keep offering you-” a harsh huff of air follows- “but you should probably lay off of it.”

Her chuckle turns into a mocking belly-laugh. “Oh, you’re not getting out of this one, Mando,” she snorts. “While she was singing, Kuill tried asking you a question. You didn’t even _look_ at him, much less give an answer.”

The Mandalorian spins around. “He did not-”

“Uh huh. He shuffled off, mumbling something about a ‘love-struck blurg’.”

The Mandalorian continues stalking forward, but he’d have to move much faster than that to escape Cara’s prodding. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Cara.” His tone is a warning, but she’s hardly afraid of him.

“Fine! Fine,” Cara sighs. The Mandalorian is making this _way_ too easy. She really had hoped he’d put up more of a defense.

Cara lets the air hang silent a good thirty or forty long seconds- just enough to let Din think he’s off the hook. “You know,” she blurts, “you could have danced with her last night when she asked you, you damn Bantha-brain.”

“I don’t _dance,_ ” he mutters, a twinge of ire in his tone.

Cara huffs. “No, you just stare, apparently.”

The Mandalorian releases a long, heavy sigh, but does not respond.

“She’s pretty…” Cara voice takes on a nonchalant tone, “great personality…”

“And a lot of damn trouble,” he grumbles, hooking a finger in his belt and twisting around to face Cara.

“Well,” she puffs, intrigued by his reaction, “don’t get your Beskar britches in a stitch. If that’s how you feel, guess it’s a good thing she’s coming with _me_ then.”

He faulters a split second before huffing through the vocoder.

_“It is.”_

Cara rolls her eyes. There is no talking him through this. Fine, be stubborn. Mando, you are a-

“On Taek,” his voice barges through her thoughts. “Since Taek…” His voice turns slow, languid. “She’s… just inexperienced, in over her head.”

“I don’t think so.”

“What do you mean?” His words are careful. He crosses his arms, slowly, _methodically._

Cara pauses long enough to gather her thoughts. With a shake of her head, she sighs, “when she was fighting me- sure, she wasn’t very strong or even good at it, but the way she instinctively moved and reacted, she’s been _trained_ before, I’d say. She isn’t clueless.”

“What are you thinking then?” The Mandalorian shifts his weight, angling his helmet to the side.

“I don’t know for sure. But I certainly don’t think she’s exactly what she portrays.” Cara raises an eyebrow. “We should probably run her name through the databases. I’d be curious to see what shows up.”

“I already did.”

“Not surprised,” Cara chuckles. “And?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s impossible.” Cara stops in her tracks. “No one is recordless.”

Din sighs, brushing past her. “ _I know_.”

“False or wiped identity.” Cara can’t help but smirk. “I’m impressed.”

“Just watch her, Cara,” Din mumbles through the vocoder, matching his pace to Cara’s. “And… watch out _for_ her.”

“I’ll leave the ‘ _watching her_ ’ part to you for now, since you seem to enjoy it so much.”

Even through a dark visor, the long-suffering, _please-just-stop_ gaze was more than apparent to Cara. But, of course, she plans to pretend she hasn’t noticed.

“Mando, you truly ar-”

" _Cara.”_

The alarm in Din’s voice rips the words from her mouth.

“What is-” Cara freezes. “Hey!” She throws a hand on her hip, the other hand reflectively slapping against her blaster holster.

"This… _is_ where we left the bikes-” Cara blinks, glancing around at the empty alley- “ _right?_ ”

Din does not answer. He steps forward, swiftly circling around the perimeter, observing the surrounding environment, the neighboring alleys… but finding _nothing._

“Were they stolen?” Cara growls, temper beginning to take control. “Damn! I ju-”

 _“Look.”_ Din lifts something up off the ground, and Cara’s heart plummets.

“Is that…?”

“It’s her bag.” Din’s voice is measured, dangerously cool. “And her purchases are still inside it.”

Cara sighs, knowing this… didn’t bode well. “She wouldn’t have left it willingly.”

Din angles his helmet to glare out into the far horizon. “No.” He shifts his weight, swinging around to face Cara. “No, she _wouldn’t.”_

Cara frowns at Din’s fluttering cape as he sweeps past her, stalking straight back towards the shops.

She sighs.

“What have you gotten yourself into…”

\-------

“Don’t worry, kids!” you weakly chuckle, knocking your hat back out of your eyes. “Look, this is just a little… fun adventure.” You rest both hands on your hips. “I’ve been kidnapped before, and I’m still here. We’re… going to be just, uh, _fine._ ”

“No!” Large, rolling tears race down Winta’s cheeks. “And- and we’re trapped here! With them! And-”

“Winta,” your voice turns firm. You toss her a warm smile, grabbing ahold of her shoulders. “If I’m not worried-” you pause to brush your hand across her cheek before pulling her close- “then you shouldn’t be either, sweetheart.”

Of course, you _are_ worried. Terribly worried. Nearly freaking-out-wanting-to-shriek-and-jump-out-the-ship worried.

Okay, so panicking. _You’re panicking!_

You swallow, the dry walls of your throat sticking together, making it difficult to even _breathe._

“Yeah, this will be fun!”

You flash Birdie a curious gaze, raising an eyebrow when you discover him _grinning_ with glee. “Birdie, what about the current situation has _you_ so excited?” you can’t help but prod. Damn, you want a slice of whatever has this kid beaming with elation because, _kriff it_ , you might just start crying yourself any minute.

“The Mandalorian will find us,” Birdie chirps, spinning around the hull of the _Razor Crest_. “And kill them! Just like one of his adventure stories!”

“Birdie!” Winta hisses. “You don’t know that!”

“He will!”

“He _might not!”_

“But he’s Mandalorian!”

“He might _die_ , Birdie!”

“No, he can’t!”

 _"YES_ , he _CAN!”_

“Kids!” you bark, separating the two of them before hands start flying. Stars, where’s an adult when you need one because you sure as _hell_ don’t feel like being one right now. You kneel down on the ground between them. “Stop this immediately, both of you. Winta, go over there. Don’t talk, even _look_ at each other.”

“Fine!”

_“Fine.”_

Both kids obey your orders, but that doesn’t stop them from tossing each other angry glares from across the room, each tempting the other to break your order first.

You sigh, roughly rubbing your face with both hands. Stars, what next?

You feel a little tug on your pants. You flash your eyes downwards, smiling wryly at the baby. His expressive eyes are visibly distraught from the heightened emotional tension in the room, and the blanket you had wrapped him in remains tossed over the back of his head like a protective canopy.

“Come on, kiddo,” you sigh. You reach down and toss him up against your shoulder, releasing a tight breath when he tucks his face into your neck for comfort. Such a trusting action would normally warm your heart, but instead, your wry smile turns bitter. These children need _you_ for comfort, for reassurance, to tell them it’s going to be _okay._ After all, that’s what parents do- they promise everything’s going to be _okay_.

 _But that’s just it._ You can chant the words over and over and over again until the air runs out of your lungs, your empty chest filling with a baseless hope. But words on their own are meaningless. They cannot change _fate_.

You- you can’t do it _again. You cannot lie to another child._

Your hands begin to shake, the hollow ache of grief bubbling and swirling in your stomach, the excruciating anguish of grief and despair eating away at what is left of your confidence. How can you sit here, swallow back against your fear, and vow to these children it will be _okay?_

A tiny squeeze on your arm rips you back to reality, back to the children here _now_. You press your eyes tightly together one last time, throwing away your pressing desire to just _break down._ Peeling your eyes back open, you sigh at discovering Winta and Birdie pressed against you, wide eyes glued to your face, searching it for answers and guidance.

“Listen, I said it’s going to be okay, and it’s going to be okay.” You flash them a shaky smile followed by a sharp nod. “And that’s _that._ ”

Your smile warms, relief flooding your heart as their faces relax at your promise, however baseless it was.

Maybe that’s all a parent really is. Someone who lies about the truth until you are old enough to face the bullshit for yourself.

“Chins up,” you sigh, jumping to your feet and placing the baby back down on his blanket. With a sharp whine, he takes it up in his hands, crawling back underneath it.

Kid’s got the right idea.

You take this moment to flail your eyes around the room, desperate for a shred of an idea, _any_ idea on how the _kriff_ to get out of this. Unfortunately, the Mandalorian’s weapons are locked away, as the Nar Shaddaa lady assured before leaving you alone with the kids in the hull. Everything- the escape pod, the ramp _, all locked down._

Maker. This- _your plans-_ are spiraling out of control. When this whole mess began, you had a few escape scenarios in mind, but they were wild and risky, per your usual style. They had to be scratched the split second the children were involved. You’ve never cared much if you take risks with your own safety. After all, what is life but a game of chance? But it would be a cold day in each of the seven Corellian hells before you ever, _ever_ put a child in harm’s way.

You groan as you are punched with reality: _you are completely and utterly dependent on the Mandalorian and Cara for rescue._

And, well, that’s _just not good enough_. If there’s anything you’ve learned during your miserable existence in this galaxy, it’s that you can never, _ever_ rely on others as a first line of defense.

Gotta take matters into your own hands. You might not be much of a fighter, but, _blast it all_ , these Nar Shaddaa gangsters have made one critical, _critical_ error:

 _They’ve triggered a mother bear…._ And there’s no coming back from that. You will _fight_ for them. If things get out of hand- If things _change_ … You exhale slowly, resigning yourself to your decision.

If there are no other options, you will give them _that_ name- the one once so unfortunately, _intrinsically_ linked to your own.

But you can face that name again for them. The children are worth it- worth throwing _everything_ away for.

You are emboldened by this decision, the protective instincts flooding your system, renewing your resolve to get out of this mess for _them._

“Well, kids-” you lower your eyes, meeting three innocent expressions- “ready for a little fun?”

“YEAH!” Birdie shouts, bouncing up and down.

“Shh!” you hiss, swiftly pressing a palm to Birdie’s mouth. “Ready for _quiet_ fun, Birdie. _Quiet_ fun.”

Birdie mumbles something through your fingers as you lead him over to the bunk compartment. With a grunt, you lift him up to sit atop the mattress.

“Winta, bring the baby over. I want you three to stay _right_ here. Do. Not. Move.” You swoop your finger in the air. “And _no_ fighting.”

“I never fight,” Winta snorts.

Birdie jumps up on his knees. “You do too!”

You open your mouth to interrupt another round of squabbling. “Kids, you have go-”

" _Girl,”_ barks a voice from the cockpit. _“Get up here. Now.”_

You grit your teeth as the snarled demand of the woman from Nar Shaddaa reverberates throughout the hull. The baby whimpers, tucking his head back behind Winta, who doesn’t exactly look that much better herself. The sparkle- the zeal for adventure- has even been ripped from Birdie’s eyes.

“Do _not move_.” You point a finger again. “Winta, you’re in charge.” Birdie’s mouth drops open, preparing to object, but you slam a hand down on the control switch, entombing the children inside with a _snap_.

With a heavy sigh, you yank on the brim of your hat to lower it back down on your brows. Biting your lip, you begin to make your way up the ladder, dread building in your stomach at not knowing what exactly to expect.

“Get up here,” barks the woman again.

“I’m here. I’m here,” you respond lazily, your outer rim accent thickening as you slip into your Nar Shaddaa persona. You stroll into the cockpit, hands raised in the air in surrender. “What is- _AHG!_ ”

Her hand lashes out, fingers sinking into your upper arm, digging ruthlessly into your flesh. With a harsh shove, she heaves you to the floor. Your knees crash into the metal flooring of the cockpit, and you cry out as your hands catch the brunt of your fall. The pain reverberates through your joints, the ache lingering longer than you think you can bare. Your cry is cut off by your own hand pressing to your lips, not wishing to alarm the children hidden down below.

“Stay down,” the man seated in the pilot’s seat grumbles, flipping switches.

Oh. _Oh_ , you are _seething_ now.

Clenching your teeth tightly together, you begin to raise up off the floor. “This- _AUF!_ ” The woman’s boot smashes into your back, sending your head hurling towards the floor. You grit your teeth, _raging_ as hot, sticky blood trails down your cheek from the impact.

“Really? Making us repeat ourselves?” The boot presses harder, pinning your cheek flat against the biting cold of the metal floor. “ _Stay. Down.”_

You squeeze your fists together, so tightly that your fingernails are digging into the flesh of your palm, to keep from snarling back at her. You can’t be stupid- you can’t be prideful. _Hold back. Hold on._

“Well-” the woman sighs, lifting her boot- “you _are_ an annoying one.”

“Thank you,” you grumble under your breath, “cultivated talent.”

So much for silence. Hell, your stupid mouth is going to get you _killed._ This- _oh stars_. Oh stars, what can you do? How do you _get out of this?_ The children, they-

_“Where is she.”_

_Y_ our heart clenches.

That…that voice- that _voice!_ The holo-communicator!

_Din!_

_“I said,”_ he growls, low and _dangerously measured_. _“ **Where is she?** ”_

You’re about to open your mouth when the boot presses down on your back in a silent warning. You bite your lip as hard as you can stand to keep from snarling an expletive.

_Think of the children. Think of the children…_

“First, Mandalorian,” says the woman, “we need to come to terms on an agreement.”

" _Show me her,”_ the Mandalorian’s voice lowers. _“ **Now**.”_

Your stomach flutters at the _rage_ lurking in his voice, but you don’t have a chance to think beyond that. A hard hand yanks the back of your collar, dragging you up to your feet as you cough and choke against the grip.

“Fine,” the woman sighs, sounding almost _bored_ with all of this- their _terrorizing_. She shoves you forward. “Here’s your girl. She’s _fine_.”

Coughing into your hand, you rapidly blink, your eyes finally coming into focus. There _he_ is- shrouded in the blue light canopy of the holo-display.

 _Cough-_ “Man-” _cough-cough-_ “Man-do!” _cough._

The Mandalorian steps closer, reaching out as if he could just _somehow_ touch you. You clamber forward, slapping your hands down on the base of the holo-display.

“Mando! They ha-”

 _“Are you hurt? Is that blood?”_ His voice is hard, _dangerous_ , even through the crackling audio of the holo-display. _“Tell me. Have they **hurt** you?”_

“Din!” you cry, losing every ounce of your cool. “Din, they have the children!”

_Dead silence._

Breathing heavily, you continue, “Winta, Birdie, and, oh stars! _The baby!_ The baby, Din!”

The Mandalorian _freezes_ , visor trained on you, his stare _melting_ you down to a little puddle on the floor.

“Oh yes, forgot to mention that,” the man mumbles, leaning back in the pilot’s chair beside where you stand.

The hum of the holo-display reverberates throughout the room, the only noise outside of your harsh, panicked breathing.

" _You-”_ the Mandalorian’s voice _burns._ _“If you put one mark on them-”_ he takes a step forward- _“there is **no place** you will be able to hide from me.”_

“Don’t worry,” the man snorts, “we’re taking good care of them, right?” He shoots out a hand, twisting it around your arm.

“Kriff off!” you snarl, all your pent-up rage exploding like a bomb. You fire an elbow at his face. He catches it, twists you around, and pins it against your back. “ _Go to hell!_ ” you scream, kicking and stomping your feet. He twists your arm further, and you yelp from the burst of pain.

**_“Let. Her. Go.”_ **

“Or what?” the man snorts. “You’re not exactly here, are you?”

"Rea, stop antagonizing everyone,” the woman barks, clearly irritated with her partner. “Let her go.”

“Hmf.”

He heaves you forward, and your ribs crash into the edge of the display, sucking all of the air from your lungs like a vacuum.

 _Your name_ \- you can faintly hear it- over and over and over again- slipping through the stars and fog and mist swirling around in your head.

“I-” you groan- “I’m o-okay.” You press a hand to your ribs, taking deep breaths against the aftershocks of pain. You clench your teeth.

 _Oh. Oh, you’re going to kill them. By your hand. You_ will _kill them._

"Listen,” the woman takes over, pushing aside her partner, “we are sending the coordinates for a rendezvous point. You have my word-” she smiles, that sickly, fabricated Nar Shaddaa smile- “they will not be harmed further, _if_ you come alone and bring the original datachip you took from Marek. That’s all we want.”

You hold your breath, awaiting Din’s response.

 _“I’ll do whatever you want.”_ His voice faulters, lowering even further.

He’s _afraid_.

“Good. Just remember-” -the woman smiles, that same phony smile- “one mistake-” she rests a hand on your shoulder- “and the _deal is off._ ”

The Mandalorian shifts, twisting his head to find you- to _stare_ you directly in the eyes. You hold the gaze, unblinking, sending him a silent promise through the connection, just wishing, _somehow_ , he could receive the message.

Two seconds…

Three seconds…

Four seconds…

_“I understand.”_

And the holo cuts off.

\-------

“No, no,” you mumble. “I promise. This isn’t blood.” You continue wiping the very-much-actual-blood on your forehead from where it collided with the floor.

“Sure,” Winta grumbles from the Mandalorian’s bed, his blankets thrown over her head.

“No, really.” You wince as you dab at a tender area. “Okay, it is blood. I, uh, was thinking too hard.” Tossing Winta a lopsided smirk, you tuck your legs under as you sit on the floor of the Mandalorian’s _Razor Crest_ bedroom. “I was thinking too hard, and my brain started bleeding, that’s all.”

“Whoa, really?” Birdie grabs onto your shoulder, staring directly at your wound. “That’s weird!”

Winta huffs, but you smile over at her, sneaking her a sly wink. No use scaring the kids. Might as well be a little silly. After all, anything that calms them, it in turn calms you, right?

Rising up from the floor, you toss aside Din’s shirt that you had been using to clean the blood away. “I owe you one shirt, Mr. Metal Man.” You grin as the kids giggle at your words.

Twisting around on your heel, you throw open his drawers, pawing through the mess the Nar Shaddaa operatives left behind in their search for the datachip (and checking for weapons, no doubt). Not that they really made the mess much _worse_. Din did a fine job of that on his own.

The man lives like a kriffing Rakghoul.

You glare up at the wall, sighing at the bare space left behind from the now-missing vibroblades. “Mando,” you grumble under your breath, just barely loud enough for the kids to hear, “couldn’t you have hidden a blaster in your, oh, I don’t know, underwear drawer?” Your smile blossoms as their giggles turn into full-on roaring laughter.

“Hey, if the Mandalorian asks-” you fling his clothes right and left over your shoulders, adding to the mess already consuming the floor- “the Nar Shaddaa bad guys made this mess.” You lift up a flannel shirt, similar to the one you had “borrowed” previously. “Deal?”

With a sly little giggle, Winta nods her head, lifting the blankets up for Birdie to join her underneath.

You shift to stand, and you pull on Din’s shirt to cover your blood-stained one. A gentle tug on your pants freezes you mid-buttoning. “Oh!” you gasp. Your eyes twist downwards, meeting the expressive orbs of the baby. His little hands are outstretched, pleading to be picked up.

“Of _course,_ baby.” You pull him up against your chest, expecting he wished for more comfort. But instead, he _stares_ , almost _mournfully,_ at you, observing your wounds.

“I’m okay, little guy,” you sigh as you exit the bedroom and pace the hull a few times. He reaches his little three-fingered hands upwards, grasping for your wounds, but you push his hands back down with each attempt.

He squeals in protest. “Shh, I need to think, baby. I’m just a clumsy oaf. I tripped, is all,” you half-heartedly mumble, deep in thought. You need to focus. You need a _damn plan._

Your thoughts are barely coherent, sloshing back and forth in your brain like a thousand loose marbles. If you could _just_ … You freeze mid-step, mouth dropping open.

The back of the hull.

You see it.

A gleam.

A _shine._

An… _idea._

With a burst of a grin, you flip around, racing back into the bedroom. “Kids,” you hiss, dropping the baby back down on the bed. “Come! I need you to make a _lot_ of noise. Scream; holler; just- _noise_.” Giggling to yourself, you rush back into the hull, freezing mid-way when you don’t hear them following after you. You twist around, discovering them still staring at you, wide-eyed, from the bed.

“Come on!” You wildly motion at them. “Don’t you want to be a part of an _adventure?_ ” You throw them a wink.

Birdie is the first to leap to your side, energy fueled by a promise of excitement. “Scream? Scream?” He grabs onto the fabric of your pants, yanking on them as he bounces up and down. “Why! Why!”

“A distraction.” You smirk, dropping down to meet his eye-level. He bursts into giggles as you ruffle his hair. “Think you can handle it?”

“But- but _how?_ ” You look over at Winta, finding her standing in the doorway as she bites her finger uncertainly.

You shrug, tossing both hands on your hips. “I dunno; doesn’t matter.” You sweep your hand in the air around the room. “Just scream about the, oh, refresher or something.”

“The _refresher?_ ” Winta snorts.

" _I DON’T WANNA USE THE REFRESHER!”_

“Stars, Birdie!” you hiss, slapping both hands over your ears. Maker, the sound certainly reverberates in this blasted metal ship!

Winta stares at you with large eyes, but you just raise your eyebrows at her. “ _Go on_ ,” you mouth.

“Um-” Winta walks over and slides the partition covering the refresher open- “you’ve got to, Birdie! It’s the only one!”

_“No! It’s stinky and gross, and I hate it!”_

Heh. Kid would make a good actor.

_“What the hell is going on down there?”_

Just as you expected, the Nar Shaddaa operatives immediately check in on all the commotion.

“Um,” you mumble, rushing over and leaning up against the ladder. “The, uh, girl is just trying to help her friend with the refresher. He’s never seen one like this, and he’s…um, scared.”

You bite your lip to keep from snickering when muttered curses swirl down the ladder followed by the _snap_ of the cockpit door clicking shut.

An impish grin stretches across your face, and you knock your hat back, amazed at how easily this is working out. “Well-” you turn to face the children, giving them a pointed look- “did I say _stop?_ ”

The children _erupt_.

And the baby, not one to be left out of the fun, takes it upon himself to begin _wailing_.

“Good, uh, good.” You cringe at the racket, fumbling over your feet in your hast to race to the back of the hull. “Keep on! Keep going!” You come to a halt, beaming up at your one-way ticket to _rescue._

A _blaster._

Of course, said _blaster_ might still be clasped in someone’s _hand._

And that _hand_ might be frozen in _carbonite._

But, _hey_ , that’s a minor issue you’re about to take care of.

Grumbling under your breath, you begin punching away at the controls on the side of the carbonite block, unsure of what exactly any of them do. “Blast!” you hiss under your breath. “Come _on_ , Carbonite Man! Unfreeze!”

You gasp. The block warms under your hand, shifting in color. Stars! He’s either cooking alive or unfreezing! Or is he- _OH! HE’S MOVING!_

You slap both hands over your mouth, gawking wide-eyed as Carbonite Man leans forward from the block like some sort of horrifying rebirth. So caught up in the terrifying visual, you barely register the kids abandoning their distraction technique to rush over and stand beside you. You stumble forward, reaching out a hand in the man’s direction. “Uh, sir, I- _Oh!_ ”

He drops down, coughing and sputtering and shaking against the floor.

“HE’S DYING!” Birdie shrieks against your leg.

“Shh! He’s, uh, _fine!_ ”

You _hope_ , anyway. A dead body would be hard to hide.

You come back to your senses, swooping up the blaster the man dropped during the unfreezing process. You twist it around, pointing it directly at him as he coughs and shutters against the floor.

You blink, wide-eyed, as his body abruptly stops convulsing, resting stiff against the floor.

“Is he…?” Winta mumbles, voice quivering.

“Oh, _blast!_ ” His dark eyes shoot open.

Winta screams, clasping her hands over her mouth.

He groans, placing a hand on his forehead. The man, maybe in his early thirties, rapidly blinks, his eyes flittering around the room until they freeze, resting on your face.

Oh no.

He’s _cute._

Had it been any other scenario, you would have jumped in feet-first flirting. The unruly stubble and the sweaty curled hair plastered to his forehead? _Yes, please._

“Well, he- _llo_ there, beautiful.” His lips slowly twist up into a smirk. “What’s a doll like you doing in my bedroom? I think I’d remember you.”

Maker. Why are they always cute until they _talk?_

“Where the _hell_ do you think you are right now, bud?” you grumble.

He squints his eyes. “Uh… my eyes are actually pretty blurry, and I-” His expression plummets to the ground.

“Oh _no.”_

“Exactly.” You shove the blaster in his face. “Get up.”

“ _Wait_ , was- was I… _carbonite?_!” He leaps to his feet, throwing his hands in the air.

“Get back,” you growl, jabbing the barrel towards his ribs.

“ _Shit!_ Calm down with that blaster, lady!” The brief flash of anger in his face is swiftly replaced with horror. “Wait- where’s… _Mandalorian?!_ ”

“Calm _down_ ,” you bark, pushing as much authority into your voice as you can muster. “You’re on the Mandalorian’s ship, and you had better listen to me.” You tilt your head to the side, throwing the children a pointed look.

“Kids, cover your ears.”

They reluctantly obey, even the baby as he grasps at the ends of his ears, attempting to fold them down against his head.

“Now, let’s talk business.” You step forward, blaster corralling Carbonite Man up against the wall.

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , wait, lady!” the man laughs nervously, throwing his hands out to the side. “I mean, come on! We can make a _deal_ here, sweetheart.” He takes a step forward.

“Bold move considering _I_ wield the blaster.”

“Drunk on power, are we?” His tone shifts into a smooth blend of irritatingly cocky confidence. “You like being in charge, sweetheart?”

“ _Maker,”_ you mutter under your breath. You bite your cheek to keep from losing your cool. After all, the kids will have enough lasting trauma from this situation without you adding to it by shooting this nerfherder in front of them.

“I mean, if you and those kids are his bounty-” he throws them a little wave; Birdie returns it eagerly before Winta slaps his hand down and recovers her ears- “shouldn’t you be pointing that thing-” he motions at the blaster- “at _him?_ ”

“Look-” you purse your lips, taking on a defensive stance. You didn’t trust this man to not do something stupid like rip the blaster from your grip, getting _all_ of you killed. You step forward again, and he steps back, pressed up against the wall like a cornered womp-rat.

 _“Listen,”_ you hiss, using your authoritative voice again, “long story short, we’re being held hostage here-”

“By the _Mandalorian?_ He took _children?_ That dirty-”

“Just stop!” you groan, rolling your eyes. “And just _listen._ No, he’s a… a good man-”

“I beg to differ, ma’am.” He lifts an eyebrow, motioning wildly at the melted carbonite block from which he emerged.

“ _Really?_ You’re one to talk.” You snort and knock your hat back, shooting him an incredulous glare. “And why exactly is there a bounty on _your_ head? I’m sure you’re just _so_ innocent, _such_ a good man.”

You inwardly cringe. You really are the _last_ person in the galaxy that should be mocking a man fleeing a bounty hunter, all things considered…

“I’ll have you know I _am_ innocent.” He crosses his arms.

“ _Really_.”

“Yes, _really._ ”

He shoots a glance at the children, all three of whom are watching him with intense fascination. Birdie looks like he’s found a new hero- a bit concerning, to be honest.

“Kids, cover your ears.”

“Aw,” Birdie whines, but they obey the demand once again.

“Tighter, kid…. No sneaking a listen…” He shifts back around to face you. “Ah-” the man slips you a wink- “let’s just say I had no idea the heiress was still married.”

“Oh stars.”

“But her partner sure informed me!”

“Dank farrick,” you groan, “you really are a banthabrain.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Enough of this.” You meet the children’s eyes. There’s no use forcing them to cover their ears at this point. They’ve overheard enough drama in just the past few hours to write an entire holodrama. You have to instead focus- focus on getting them out. If this man can be useful towards that goal, then he had better start talking- and talking _fast._

“Let’s cut to the chase, shall we?” You smile, crossing your arms but keeping the blaster pointed at his head.

“I’d focus better without that blaster- hey! That’s _mine!_ ”

“Two Nar Shaddaa syndicate members are up in the cockpit.” Your lopsided smile drops. “They are holding us to get something they want from the Mandalorian. And if they find you, they will kill you. Catch my drift?”

“Kark. I didn’t ask to be unfrozen and dragged into this!”

“Then get in the freezing bay!”

“Now wait-”

“Are you afraid?” Birdie chirps, rushing over to grab the man’s hand.

“Birdie!” you hiss, jerking forward to snatch him back.

“Kid, to put it simply and in as few words as possible-” he drops down to Birdie’s eye level- “ _yes._ ”

Winta races over and grabs his other arm. “We can help!”

“Kids, you’re killing me here,” you groan as you snatch up the baby with your free hand before he can waddle over to join Winta and Birdie. “Look here, uh-”

“Pablo.” He smiles at you, sticking both hands out towards Winta and Birdie to shake. “Nice to meet you.”

They giggle as they take his hands. You lean all your weight to one foot, jutting your hip out. “Carbonite man, Pablo, _whatever_ -” you purse your lips- “whether you want to or not, you’re stuck in the middle of this. You have three options.”

“One-” with the hand grasping the blaster, you lift a finger up- “help us, and I will have the Mandalorian release you.” Second finger. “I can refreeze you. Or three-” you smirk- “you get shot.”

“Dank farrick.”

“Well?”

Pablo turns his head, raising an eyebrow at Winta and Birdie. “Guess I’ll hedge my bets on the Mandalorian’s kindness.”

You release a long breath. Maker, you hadn’t realized how tense you’d been…

“Good. Well then-” you let a smile tickle the corner of your mouth- “got any ideas?”

\-------

“No, that’s too dangerous. It’s a stupid plan.”

“Got anything better, little miss genius?” Pablo grumbles.

“Oh, and _you’re_ a genius?” It takes all of your inner strength to keep your voice below a whisper. You feel your face warm with seething anger. “ _You’re_ the one who got caught by a bounty hunter!”

“And _you’re_ the one who got kidnapped.”

“Stars!” you growl, shifting further away from Pablo, sliding across the Mandalorian’s bed. “Honestly? I hope they do kill you.”

“Don’t tempt me with a good time.”

You hand is raised in the air, prepared to shove him off the bed when Winta bursts through the doorway of the sleeping quarters.

“Someone’s coming!”

“Kriff!” you hiss, flying to your feet.

“Hey, hey, wait, where the hell-”

“Under the bed!” You slap a hand on the top of his head, shoving it down with force. “Go!”

“I can barely _fit_ ,” he growls. “I think I’m stuck- HEY NOW.”

“ _Move!_ ” you hiss through your teeth, pushing on his ass with both hands.

A few more panicked wiggles, and he slips underneath.

“Here.” You slip him his blaster back. “ _Don’t make me regret this_.” 

He peaks up at you with a lopsided smile. “Never, sweetheart.”

You barely make it back into the hull before the female Nar Shaddaa operative steps down from the last rung of the ladder.

“We’ve finalized the last details of the rendezvous with the Mandalorian.” She throws both hands on her hips, rolling her shoulders forward, taking on a much more intimidating presence. “We should be arriving within fifteen minutes.”

Stars! Fifteen minutes… Within fifteen minutes…

_Oh Maker…_

Swallowing back your anxiety, you stroll over to where the children sit in the bunk compartment, climbing up and joining them. You take the baby up, setting him down in your lap. He stares up at the woman and coos as the other children tuck behind your back.

“And?” You are trying your hardest to use your professional, almost _bored_ tone of voice, the one you used when discussing “ _business”_ on Nar Shaddaa.

“I’m just reiterating my earlier point-” she smiles- “that one wrong move, play heroics, and you _know_ how this will end.”

You blink, keeping the mask on your face. “Good, well, thanks for the update.” If you stay calm… the kids will stay calm… If you stay calm… the kids will stay calm…

The woman huffs and does a quick visual sweep of the hull before spinning around, climbing right straight up the ladder again.

Hell.

The unfrozen carbonite block. Tucked away in the back.

The kriff. She didn’t see it. Bloody hells!

You’ll just have to blame Pablo for that one.

You groan, letting your head flop forward against the baby’s head. He coos against the touch, reaching up and clasping both of his hands against your cheeks.

“Baby, I know you miss your daddy,” you sigh heavily, rubbing his ear with affection. “I think you all need naps.”

“ _You_ need a nap.”

You twist to frown at Winta. She just shrugs.

Well, she might have a point. After a long day of plot twist after plot twist, well…

You can’t take many more of them.

“Hello, sweetheart.”

Your eyes shoot up, your mouth plummeting to the floor.

“What the _kriff_ are you doing?”

Pablo keeps his blaster trained on you, shrugging at your question. “Sorry, but I intend to do this _my_ way, whether you like it or not.”

You grit your teeth, rage boiling in your stomach- only the fear of alerting the cockpit keeping it from spilling over and consuming Pablo alive.

“I- you- how **_dare_** -”

“Save it.” His face falls into the most serious expression you’ve seen from him thus far. He swoops along the wall, angling his head cautiously, peering up the ladder.

“The door’s closed. Stay quiet. Climb.”

“Are you crazy?!” You leap to your feet, marching over with little regard for the blaster trained on your head.

“Get back,” he spits, holding a hand up in warning.

“No,” you growl, ripping your hat off your head and slamming it against the floor. “Shoot me. You won’t! Shoot me, you kriffing _coward!_ ”

His hand launches forward, twisting around your upper arm. His fingers dig into the soft flesh beneath the sleeve as he yanks you forward to hiss in your ear. “Don’t do this, not in front of the children.”

_The children._

Stars.

You- you lost your temper in front of the children. You peak a reluctant glance over at the bunk, horrified to discover sheer terror etched in their expressions.

_You want to throw up._

But your pride, your temper, still speak for you when your lips open. “In front of the children? Says the man pointing a blaster at me,” you say through clenched teeth.

His eyes grow hard, and he shakes his head vigorously. “You’ll thank me later.”

You have no idea what’s about to happen, but your priority is the children. Their safety. Their comfort. Their _lives._

You will get them out of this, _somehow._ Somehow.

“I won’t forget this, Pablo.”

\-------

It took Pablo less than thirty seconds to override the locks on the escape pod. Who knew that there was an emergency feature that allowed for it to be manually unlocked? Certainly would have been handy information to have that one time a Gungan was chasing you on his freighter…

“Come on, doll,” Pablo whispers, shoving Winta as tightly against your body as possible. She groans, wrapping both arms around your leg. _“I’m tired.”_

“I know, babydoll.”

“Ouch!”

“Shh!”

“ _Maker_ ,” you mumble, barely audible. “Who designs a coffin escape pod that fits one person?” You squeeze the baby against your chest, praying there would be room enough to shut the door with all four of you stuffed inside. He releases a little whine, leaning into you as tightly as possible.

“Listen-” Pablo dips his head down within inches of your ear- “they won’t know you’ve launched. I froze the pod’s system computers from this panel, so you should be safe.”

“How do I know you didn’t screw the pod up?” you sneer.

He cocks his head, dipping in even closer to your ear. You feel his hot breath brush against your ear.

_“Trust me.”_

“ _Kriff. Off_ ,” you mouth at him. He has the audacity to _smirk_.

“What in the Corellian hells are we supposed to do when we land?”

“You’ll figure it out.”

Kriff, you want to smack that smirk right off his face…. You gasp when something cold presses into your one free hand.

“Take it.”

You look down, astonished to find his blaster in your grip. Your eyes shoot back up, honestly baffled by the gesture. This… this leaves _him_ defenseless. “I could blast you right now.” A smirk tickles at the corner of your lips.

“Shoot me.” He grins, a bright, wide grin. “You won’t, you kriffing _coward._ ”

And with one final chuckle, he seals the door shut, plastering the four of you tightly, but _safely_ , within the confines of the escape pod.

“Here we go, kiddos,” you mumble, feeling light for the first time since this whole mess started. _Yes._ Finally… The kids will be out of danger… A thousand-pound weight lifts from your shoulders, and you sigh, letting your eyes fall shut.

“Let’s fly.”

With a _jolt_ \- a _jerk_ , the pod releases, and you take over the controls, begging the force for a safe landing, if for any reason, for the _children’s_ sake.

“He’s going to die, isn’t he?”

“Maybe not, Winta.”

Probably not.

\-------

“I _hate_ adventure.”

You reach down into the escape pod, pulling Birdie up to his feet. “Come on now, Birdie. You love adventure!”

"Not anymore!” Birdie screams at the top of his lungs. “It’s stinky!”

“I want to go home!” Winta cries, flopping down on the sand. The baby takes this as his emotional cue, dramatically flopping over into Winta’s lap and launching into high-pitched whining.

“Stars almighty!” You drop down to your knees and throw your hat off your head. “We’re safe! Look, don’t give up now!”

You know this isn’t a fair request. They’re _children_ , for goodness sake. Tired, hungry, _stressed_ children. But you have no clue, _no clue_ , where you are on Arvala. No clue where Kuill’s is. No clue what direction to go or how long it will take. It’s hot, everyone’s hungry… And outside of one blaster pistol, _defenseless._

You stare up into the sky, squinting against the blazing, unforgiving sun.

_Sigh._

“Come on now.” You lumber back up to your feet, thrusting an arm out towards the horizon. “We’ll get home that way.”

Yes, the direction the _Razor Crest_ was headed when you launched from it. Better than wandering around in circles.

You rest the baby against your hip, the other hand clenching the blaster with a steely grip. The children stumble into a line behind you, eyes drooping and shoulders low. You sigh.

“Let’s sing while we walk, how ‘bout?” you chirp.

They grumble an affirmative. You think so, anyway. Stars, you’re actually jealous of their freedom to show outwardly how they _really_ feel, not have to worry about keeping up a tough face.

Being an adult, to quote Birdie, is _stinky._

\-------

Eh, everyone’s a critic. The children fall into a heavy silence after you finish the second song, so you give up on the singing. Well, maybe at this point, letting them process the day in silence would be better for them than anything else.

They need the- _wait._

You freeze, dropping your body down to the dirt at the top of the hill. You jerk your arm in circles, and the children flop down beside you.

“The _Razor Crest!_ ” Winta gasps, eyes widening.

Resting a hand above your eyes, you squint against the sun’s rays, sweeping your eyes around the valley in which the ship is positioned. But what you find is… well.

_Not good._

You see no one. Hear no one.

But the ramp is open, and there’s _blaster bolt_ residue all along the sides of the rocks, the far cliff face, and even new marks on the _Razor Crest_ itself. You bite your lower lip to stop it from trembling. At- at least you don’t see their bodies. That’s… _good_ , right? Means they’re somewhere… fighting?

Oh, stars…

You shift back on your heel to stand, anxiously brushing your pants off. “Stay here. Do not move for any-” you point at them and raise your eyebrows- “and I mean _any_ reason.” You are met by sharp nods of agreement.

You sigh, twisting around to slide down the hill towards the ship. Crouching down, you scramble from rock to rock, moving closer in towards the ship. You still hear nothing, not even from within the ship. You pause, frozen in place, for a good three, four minutes, just enough to make sure it was safe enough to approach closer.

If no one is in the ship, you can fly it off. Fly it to Kuill’s, get help, call the Mandalorian, _anything._

You cautiously rest one foot at the bottom of the ramp, as if it was triggered with bombs just waiting to go off with one wrong step. You release a puff of air, standing completely motionless as the Arvala wind whips your clothes around. You shake your head, taking several more steps.

All seems good, so now you can-

_“WATCH OUT!”_

You leap back several feet, clumsily falling off the edge of the ramp with an _oof_. You don’t allow yourself time to feel pain. You clutch at the arm you landed on, gritting your teeth. Stumbling up, you slip on loose rocks as you race towards cover. Panting heavily, you jerk your head around in circles. You reach down to your waistband, grasping for Pablo’s blaster.

Wait- no, _no!_ The blaster- Pablo’s blaster! You- you must have lost it by the ramp in your panic! _Damn!_

_“LOOK!”_

Your eyes tear up to where Winta stands at the top of the hill. She and Birdie are leaping up and down, motioning wildly towards the opposite side of the _Crest_ where you sit. You spin around, expecting the worst.

And finding it.

_Seven Corellian hells._

The Nar Shaddaa woman, dusted up and bloodied, is _racing_ towards the _Crest._

And she’ll have to pass you to get to it.

“Watch _out!_ ”

**_BLAST._ **

**_BLAST._ **

The kids shriek as the blaster bolts sail over their heads. “DROP!” you howl, leaping up from your position. “DROP DOWN- _ARH!_ ” You grasp your left arm, grinding your teeth as the blood begins to pool on the fabric, warm and sticky against your hand.

You spin around, tears dripping from the pain. She’s lifting it again. Aiming.

You dive, screaming as your bad arm crashes into the dirt. No, _no_. The world falls dark for only a second. But now you’re stuck- _stuck behind a rock._ She’s coming- coming _closer_. You can hear her boots, crunching against the rocks and pebbles. _Crunching crunching._

Kriff.

_Kriff._

**_Kriff._ **

You- you can’t _breathe._ The smell of burned flesh- your flesh- turns your stomach inside out.

_No._

This can’t- this _won’t_ be your end.

Tears of terror and pain and resolve flood your cheeks.

You have one option. One chance.

You will get to the _Razor Crest_ first.

One deep breath. Stumbling over pebbles, you push for the ramp. Your eyes are fixed forward. Tuning out any other thought besides-

**_run._ **

A bolt whizzes past your right ear. You instinctively jerk left, falling over from the burst of pain blasting from your arm straight to your head.

No, no. You can’t- You have to _get up._ The children…

Rage seethes in your chest. Damn her. _Damn this galaxy._

You belly crawl to the nearest rock, pressing up against it. What can you do? _Oh, Maker, what can you do?_

You peak your head up. She’s so close. Closer. Lifts the gleaming silver. Aim-

Wait, **_what?_**

You gasp, slapping your good hand across your mouth.

You- your eyes… is this real? It can’t… You blink. No, it’s real.

_The woman is floating in the air._

“What the hell,” you hiss under your breath. “What th- OH!”

The woman goes blasting off, crashing against the _Crest_ with an audible _crunch_. Winta screams. You rip your eyes away, staring up at the hill, just in time to watch the baby fall into Winta’s lap.

Oh.

Oh _no. No. No._

 _The baby- the baby_ _used the force._

Complicated. How do things keep getting more and more _complicated?_

Movement pulls your attention away. The woman is getting up- clutching her side in pain. She releases a guttural scream, eyes flashing flames at you.

Right between you. In the middle. _The blaster._

Like a match being lit, you burst forward. The pounding in your ears is like the hum of machinery, pushing you on like you had no say in the matter.

But then she falls, tumbles over her own feet, and you grasp the blaster from the dirt. But she’s on you. A _snap_ against your fingers, and you cry out as the weapon launches from your hand. She kicked it.

She wraps an arm around your neck, but you pull her down with every bit of your body weight- both of you screaming against your injuries and wounds, but neither giving in.

Side leap- roll. You launch at her legs, taking her down. She throws you off- climbing astride. You grab her wrists, tears bubbling in your eyes as the pain in your arm blackens the edges of your eyesight.

You freeze.

You don’t- you don’t feel _pain_.

It’s cold. Just feels… _cold_.

With shaking, trembling hands, your clutch the handle of the vibroblade- _your vibroblade_ \- jutting from your side.

She jumps up off you, twisting around on her heel. You kn-know… she’s… the children. _The children_. You think you can… faintly hear them.

It wasn’t smart. But you have to… Gritting your teeth, you yank the knife from your side. Flopping over as you wail, the pain held back like a dam releases all at once.

Face kissed with tears, you wobble up to your feet, swaying against the darkness encroaching your vision.

_May the force guide your hand._

You swing back. The knife flies, slips right out of your fingers. Slices through the air.

The Nar Shaddaa operative collapses, the handle of your knife glowing golden in the sun’s rays.

This will be your legacy.

Not your arrests, rebellion, schemes, failures, betrayals.

No.

When you die, your legacy will be the golden knife shining from their back. Your legacy will be the three children that will live on another day.

You’re selfish. You’ve lived a selfish life. But somehow, you think, with the last three minutes of your breath, maybe, just maybe, you have wiped that slate clean.

“Valera,” you mumble. Stars, you see her face. That’s all you want. Yes, to hell with this life. Valera… Bright eyes giggle above your face.

Maker…. You’re hallucinating… You’re… you’re actually _dying_. Years of close calls, and now you’re _dying._

“V-Va- _Valera_.”

You reach up. But it is not softness nor warmth you feel.

C _old._

_Hard._

_“She’s going into shock.”_

_Din._

His voice is a thousand miles away. You are buried a hundred miles below the surface of an ocean. You are only vaguely aware of arms sliding underneath you, lifting you.

You feel no pain. Only a dark light, hovering at the edge, consuming more and more of the bright light. A battle, life and death. And you are stuck between them.

You comprehend a few things. The soft hug of blankets beneath your body. The gentle give of a mattress. A deep voice, muffled above the water’s surface. Soft, affectionate fingers tracing your jaw, cupping your cheek.

You hear your name, clear through the fog, a desperate, pleading voice.

It calls out. You want to answer.

But the darkness wins.

\-------

You don’t remember the first time you awaken. Or the second. Nor the third. But the fourth time-

You pry open heavy eyelids, as if the lashes were tied to lead strands. You groan- you feel so _heavy,_ like there’s a pressure boring down on you from some invisible source. You wiggle against the weight; the soreness shoots up your side; your arm-

_Oh!_

Your eyes shatter the lead weights into a thousand crystal shards, blasting wide open when everything hits your mind at once.

Hell! What- are the kids…? Where are- wait!

You lean forward, lifting up from the bed like some rakghoul emerging from its grave. A _mistake_. You moan against the ache that quivers up your spine.

_“Easy.”_

Catching the movement of silver, your eyes tear over to the opposite side of the room... Din's room. You're on the _Razor Crest._

“Din,” you breathe, groaning as you place your good hand on your forehead. “What- what happened?”

He tilts his head. “You were stabbed.”

“I- I think I figured _that_ part out,” you grumble as you stare down at your body, laying back against the pillows.

He remains silent, moving across the room to stand at your side. He doesn’t go to sit or even speak; he just… _stares_ down at you.

“ _What?_ ” you grumble, perhaps a bit heavy on the aggression. But hey, you’ve just been stabbed and shot. You imagine you have the right to be grumpy for at least a week or two. Maybe three, if you push it.

“I’m trying to determine-” he reaches down, dusting your forehead with the hint of leather- “if it’s you or the drugs speaking right now.”

“Drugs?” A teasing smile blooms at the corner of your mouth. “Hey, what kind of drugs are we talking about here?”

He lowers down into the chair positioned beside your bed with a grunt.

“It’s you.”

You chuckle even through your aching exhaustion.

“I…” you drop the humor, voice lowering to a mere whisper. “What happened? I don’t remember…”

Din twists his head away from you. You fear he might not answer; you begin panicking, wondering if something horrible happened and-

“When we arrived,” he sighs, heavy, _tired_ , “they refused to show us you and the children. Next thing I know-” he tilts his head- “a man emerged from the ramp saying you were safe and to shoot them.”

 _Pablo_. Some plan! You roll your eyes, perhaps with a smidge of affection in your heart, if you searched very, very hard. Very hard.

“Then we found you,” he whispers, barely audible through the vocoder. He leans forward, resting both elbows against his knees and shaking his head.

“Ka’r’ika, you… ” He reaches out again, dusting of leather against your cheek. “I- _fuck_ \- you _died_.”

“I… I did?” Your eyes widen. “I- it’s… _really?_ ” You blink, humor taking over for your lack of words. You force a grin. “Damn, that’s… hardcore.”

Din does not attempt to mask the aggression in his tone.

“They died too quickly.” He leans against the mattress, voice dropping in volume. “They deserved to have it dragged out.”

Shivers spike up your spine at his words. Sometimes you forget he’s a hunter, running with his own, perhaps sometimes cruel, set of rules and codes. But quickly… was it quickly? You let your eyes slide shut, trying your hardest to forget to stench of raw, burnt flesh, the children wailing…

You launch forward with a gasp. “The kids! Are they-”

He pushes you back with a firm grip on your shoulder.

“Time has helped.” He leans forward. “Every time they tell the story, the details grow a bit more elaborate. A good sign.”

“Heh, no surprise there- wait a minute, how much time are we talking about here?”

“Three days.” He angles his head at you. “Been taking turns watching you.”

“Stars! Three days!” You blink, biting you lip. “I, uh, I’m sorry. I can go to my, um, own bunk now. I feel better…” You begin shifting, but a firm, yet gentle, hand presses you back down, fingers lingering a few seconds longer than necessary.

You sigh, letting your good arm flop down on your chest.

“Ka’r’ika…”

You turn your head to watch him; he taps his fingers rapidly against his thigh.

“You did well.”

A small smile peaks through your lips, and you slide your hand along the edge of the bed, seeking his. You grasp the cool leather, pleased when he returns the grip.

“We can’t seem to stay out of trouble-” you toss him a lopsided smile- “can we?”

“No,” he rasps. You are happy to hear amusement has returned to his voice. “ _You_ can’t.”

“Mando-” you scrunch your nose- “you can kriff right _off_.”

He laughs… stars, even more beautiful than the first time you heard it. Best watch out, Mando, now you will do everything in your power to pry open that tin can heart of his and pull that laugh out.

Your mood turns, your face dropping.

The baby.

The _baby._

Hell, he… he used the _force_. Surely the Mandalorian knew, right? How- how could he not? Do you bring it up? Ask? You twist your head, avoiding meeting the dark depths of his visor.

You will wait. You will wait and see if _he_ brings it up.

After all, the children saw it too. They must have told him what they saw…

“What’s wrong?”

You blink rapidly, breath catching in your throat. “Oh, ah, nothing.” Biting your lip, you take a deep breathe of air. “I guess, I just wonder, you know, this is my fault. I should have- could have… I don’t know.” _You will not cry you will not cry._ “I’m a karking _coward.”_ You bury your face in your hand.

“You’re a lot of things-” you rip your hand away, staring at him as he speaks- “but a coward is not one of them.”

You blink as he continues.

“You protected our children. Killed to do so.” He angles his helmet. “Didn’t run, stayed with me to take a Bateran down.” He blows a huff of air through the vocoder. “And a coward wouldn’t have risked their life for those women on Taek.”

“That was just a gut reaction,” you grumble, feeling your cheeks burn at the Mandalorian’s praise.

“Bravery as an instinct is stronger than a deliberate choice. It means it’s in your nature.” He shifts to stand, hovering over your body before stepping back. “This is the way.”

“Um, oh. Ok-ay.”

Pride, there was _pride_ in his voice.

“Well-” you stop him before he can move further away from you- “what now for you, Mandalorian?”

“Delivering the chip to the client.” He steps over a pile of clothing to stare up at some piping running through the walls. “That should take care of any future issues, for both of us.” He hooks his fingers in his belt, stepping back away from the bed. “I redirected their beacon. Made it look like they were in a completely different sector. Kuill should be safe, _protected_.”

Your eye twitches, afraid to ask your next question.

“So, where is this chip to be delivered?”

“Nar Shaddaa.”

Oh.

Oh, hell no no _nonono._

You didn’t spend months of blood, sweat, and tears running to get away from there only to go back now. No, _no._ You’re going with Cara. You’re going to Keolith.

Movement from the corner of your eye breaks apart your panicked thoughts.

Din, stepping over another pile of junk, stoops down to pick some of it up.

“It- I…” he pauses, several quiet, long seconds. “I could keep you safe- if you were to stay with me.”

You blink, thinking you hear a light strangle of air slipping under his helm.

“…Until things with Taek are cleared,” he swiftly adds, stuffing some shirts into a drawer.

“Din,” your voice is soft, barely audible. He drops everything to turn and stare at you.

“I’ve been lying to you.”

_Silence._

“I- I can’t stay here- not with you, your son, these people.” Your voice grows louder with every word. “It’s too dangerous. And- and I can’t go back to Nar Shaddaa. I had to flee the planet with only the clothes on my back. I’m in a big, hot _mess_.”

You vigorously shake your head, avoiding looking in his direction. “If there isn’t already, soon there will be a price on my head. It doesn’t matter _why_. And- _shit_ \- I… it’s _bad,_ really bad.” The words spill faster and faster.

“And I don’t mean cheap hunters!” You throw your good hand in the air. “We’re talking private, high-level hunters!” You slap your face into your hand, yanking on your hair as you groan.

“Hell, on Taek- I _stalked_ you. I heard stories of the Mandalorian hunters. Expensive, _efficient._ I thought you were there for me.” Gulping back against your dry throat, you force yourself to turn and face him.

He stands motionless, watching you. His visor, that _damn_ visor, bores into you like it could dig secrets from your soul.

Oh _no_.

A hunter. He is, first and foremost, a _hunter._

You-you messed up. He wouldn’t- maybe you overestimated… He’s going to turn you in, collect-

“I know.” His voice is soft, _gentle._

Your lips part, confusion etched in your furrowed brows.

“I knew you were watching me, trailing me to the cantina.”

Your eyes widen.

“I followed you to the courtyard that night,” he rasps, crossing his arms. “To observe. Maybe question you.”

“ _Poodoo_ ,” you breathe, eyes wide open in disbelief. “And there I was the whole time thinking I was being _sneaky._ ”

A small gasp escapes your lips when he suddenly steps to the side. He sweeps around the bed, stomping right over the clothes you had tossed on the floor only a few days prior. You startle, digging back against the pillows, holding your breath until he pauses right beside you.

_“You’re staying with me.”_

“W-what? Didn’t you just hear what I said?” You start to sit up, but his firm grip on your shoulder pushes you back, holding you there as he resumes speaking.

“I’m not letting you leave until it’s safe and this situation is cleared up.”

You know you can’t argue when he uses _that_ tone of voice, but you can try. “But the hunters!”

“Will not hurt or find us. I will- I _swear-_ ” he rips his hand away from your shoulder, dropping down into the chair. “You _will_ be kept safe. And- after that… I will return you to Keolith, or whatever you _wish_.” His voice drifts, softening towards the end.

Tears threaten to spill from your eyes.

But _no_ , you will _not_ cry.

You grab his hand with yours, ignoring the sharp exhale of breath that slips beneath his helm. You desperately wish you could feel, _squeeze,_ the soft flesh hidden away in leather. _You want to touch the man inside._

But that thought _scares_ you. It scares you because, you have a feeling, if you were to ask, _he would do it for you._

You- you don’t _want_ that kind of power. You can’t _handle_ that kind of power.

“Interrupting anything?”

You rip your hand away, tucking it beneath the blankets.

“Cara!” you laugh, brushing off your discomfort.

“So, you live!”

“It appears so.”

“Feeling okay?” Her voice softens, dropping the jestering tone.

“Yeah,” you sigh.

“Good.” That mischievous glint returns to her eye. “Well, aren’t we going to be just one cozy little group, all together in the _Razor Crest_.”

“E- _excuse me?”_ You raise an eyebrow.

A new person entering the room rips your attention towards the door.

“It’ll be a tight squeeze, but-” Pablo takes another bite of his apple- “hey! That bed could fit three, easily. Who wants to spoon me?”

“You!” you growl, wincing as you lift up off the bed. “You’re not spooning _anyone_ tonight! How about we just _freeze you back!_ ”

Pablo throws his hands in the air, giving you a raised eyebrow.

“Hold the spunk, sweetheart.” He takes another bite of the apple, casually walking closer to you. “I’m a free man. Kids vouched for me. They _love_ me.”

Din releases the heaviest, most _long-suffering_ sigh you have ever heard from him.

Apparently, three days with Pablo hasn’t exactly made the Mandalorian a fan either.

“In exchange for his assistance, I messaged and had Greef wipe his Guild bounty, listed as dead,” Cara chuckles.

“Yeah, saving Mando’s girl got me on the buddy list. And Mando, you wouldn’t have caught me the first time if I wasn’t taken off guard.” He points a finger at Din. “Lemme know when you want a rematch.”

“I-I’m _not his girl_ ,” you mumble, heart beating faster at the insinuation. Oh stars… You dare not steal a glance at the Mandalorian.

“Oh good, I was worried,” Pablo sighs. “Didn’t want Mando to find out that you grabbed this tight ass when we were alone in here.”

“ _Pablo!_ ” you yelp, growling through clenched teeth. Stars, you’ve had _enough._ “Remember our previous conversation? I’m going to bloody _kill you!_ ” You launch a pillow at him with your one good arm that he easily dodges. “Get over here, you coward!”

He flops on the other side of the bed, yelling and covering his face as you smack him repeatedly with a pillow.

“Damn- HEY- wa- _ouch!”_

“Blast-” _smack-_ “you-” _smack-_ “banthabrain!”

“Stop.” A strong grip pulls your arm back. “You’ll agitate your injuries.”

“I will _not_ travel with him in the same ship!”

“I’m not too excited about it either, sister!”

“Go with Cara then!”

“About that-” Cara taps her chin- “my little craft _might_ have been destroyed in the scuffle with the Nar Shaddaa creeps.”

“Oh.” You blink. “I’m-I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Wasn’t my ship,” she chuckles.

“We’re dropping them off,” Din sighs, rolling his head back as if to say, _“how did I get into this mess?”_

“If you can’t handle each other’s presence,” he grumbles, crossing his arms. “I can freeze you both.”

“Grumpy old man,” you snort.

You turn towards Pablo, sticking a tongue out at him. He returns the gesture.

Cara grabs the back of Pablo’s collar. “Come on, let’s let her get some rest.” Cara swoops her hand towards the door. “Din, go get some sleep. I’ll stay and listen for her.” She leans in close to you, raising her hand to cover her mouth. “He wouldn’t leave your side.”

You feel your cheeks burst into flames, and you wish you could bury your head under the covers like the children.

“Fine.” Pablo spins around in the doorframe, tossing you a quick wink. “Later, sweetheart.”

Cara chuckles. “You too, Din.”

Letting his shoulders fall, he shuffles over towards the door, pausing just before the frame.

“Ka’r’ika, wait.”

You lift your eyes. “What is that?”

Your mouth falls open, the familiar golden gleam finally registering in your head.

_Your knife._

“You should wield this with honor, Ka’r’ika,” Din rumbles.

You hesitantly reach out, taking it with a trembling hand.

“You _earned_ the honor.”

You raise your head, a small smile on your lips.

“Teach me sometime?”

His hand lifts your chin. _Skin_ , not leather, strokes just below your lip.

“As you please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is incredibly long, so I really appreciate it if you made it this far. No, seriously, I really do. I write mostly for my own pleasure. I mean, that’s the “correct” answer to give, right? But I will be the first to admit I also write because I want my readers to feel what I feel- a shared experience. So, if my writing has in any way affected you- made you feel something- I please ask that you leave a comment and kudos! Think of your comments as the gasoline that fuels the writing. It doesn’t have to be fancy! Just something to let me know, hey, it really was worth staying up till 3AM writing when you had to get up at 5AM. Comments here or my tumblr [@wille-zarr (click here)](https://wille-zarr.tumblr.com/) are always loved.
> 
> See you next chapter! Where do we go from here, hmm? ;)
> 
> And I went ahead and bumped the story up to an “M” rating on Ao3, mostly for the language and violence. Just to be safe. Each chapter will include detailed warnings so you can make the decision on whether to read it or not.


	8. Kissing is Disgusting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After waving goodbye to life on Arvala-7, you anxiously continue along your journey to Nar Shaddaa. But when tensions erupt and dangers arise, your bond with the Mandalorian is put to the ultimate test.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated M for language; angst; threats of violence; alcohol consumption

Well, so much for promising yourself to behave around the Mandalorian… Only ten days since you were gutted like a colo claw fish, and you’re already back to flirting with a _vengeance._

 _You will never learn,_ will you?

“Not bad, Ka’r’ika.”

You stare at the target, your brows creasing as you assess your hit.

“Not _bad?_ Kriff it, Din! Look at that!” You fling your arm out in the direction of the target. “My vibroblade hit the _inner_ target ring this time! Almost the bullseye!” You spin around, glaring daggers at him. “How about you give me just a _little_ bit of positive praise for once?” You cross your arms tightly across your chest, a smirk tickling on your lips. “Or _would that kill you?_ ”

The Mandalorian tilts his head to the side, hooking two fingers in his belt as he stares over at you. “I _did_ give you praise,” he grumbles through his vocoder. 

“Not _bad?_ You call that praise?” You purse your lips, a smile threatening to break the character you were playing. “Din Djarin, have you ever taught anyone _anything_ before? Positive praise is a crucial part of the learning process.” 

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing at the heavy, _long-suffering_ sigh that slips beneath his helm. 

“Fine. You’re doing… okay.” His voice is dry, utterly _unbothered_ by your grievances.

“Well, if I’m still not meeting the Mandalorian’s standards-” you march over to the target, yanking out your vibroblade from where it juts from the board- “you’ll just have to show me how to throw the blade again, step-by-step.” 

You casually stroll towards him, twirling the blade between your fingers. Flashing Din an impish grin, you hold your vibroblade out expectantly.

The Mandalorian sighs, heavy and _tired_. But you’ve spent enough time with him that you could now detect the jest, the _amusement_ layered within his tone.

Spinning around to face the board, it takes every ounce of your willpower to keep from giggling like a schoolgirl as his hands curl around your shoulders, pulling you back against his chest. 

Maybe it was a _tad_ conniving of you, but…

You’ve been, uh… _faking bad throws_ … Lots of them.

In fact, you really didn’t require _any_ training from the Mandalorian in vibroblade throwing. A few days prior, you took the initiative to do some independent practice. It only took a few initial swings, and your muscle memory kicked back in, each one of your throws hitting the bullseye, true and center.

But, _well,_ let’s just say you have a reason- a _good,_ though admittedly _mischievous_ reason- for feigning incompetence at the moment… 

“Okay, Ka’r’ika-” Din’s gloved hand glides around your shoulder, gently inching its way down your right arm. He pauses at your wrist. “Relax this,” he rumbles right above your ear, his left hand lightly squeezing your shoulder. 

“And _stop tensing._ ”

Oh, _karking hells_. You clench your teeth, trying to ignore how _big and warm and close_ he is. How the _kriff_ are you supposed to just _not tense_ with the Mandalorian glued to the back of your body like a blasted _Mynock?_

“Breathe.”

“I am breathing!” you squeak. Okay, maybe you _had_ been holding your breath, but, again, _he’s glued to your back like a Mynock leeching off electromagnetic energy_. How the _hell_ are you supposed to just blasted… _breathe?_

“Loosen your stance,” he whispers in your ear, releasing your wrist. He takes a step back, and you frown at the loss of his comforting- though admittedly _distracting_ \- presence.

You stare at the bullseye, letting your eyes _drop-drop-drop_ down to the outer ring. 

_There._

Your target. With one last little smirk, you fling your arm back, shift your body weight forward, and give a sharp _snap_ of the wrist.

_Bang._

You hit _exactly_ where you intended, the outer ring. Holy shavit, your dad would be proud! 

“Hell yeah!” 

You catch Din staring at you, head angled curiously at your elation over an apparently even _worse_ throw than before. “Oh, um-” you shrug, flipping your grin for a scowl- “Din, I, uh, I’m just really bad at this. Please, let’s practice hand-to-hand defense now. I’ll have more use for that anyway.”

“No,” he grunts, stalking towards the target to yank your blade out. “You aren’t healed enough.”

“Come on, Din!” You drop down into a fighting stance as he slowly strides back towards you. “I am perfectly healed. Omera’s slathered me in enough bacta to heal a chopped-in-half dewback.” 

He moves closer, and you playfully reach out to slap the back of your hand against his Beskar-armored chest. 

“Come on, Mandalorian, what are you- WHU- _HEY!”_

He’s bent you over backwards, trapping you against his side with an arm wrapped around your waist.

“ _OOF!_ DIN!”

“This is what you wanted.”

“Let me go! I wasn’t ready!” 

“You weren’t?”

Stars, you hate that stupid _smugness_ in his voice! You wiggle against his hold, but he only presses you tighter under his arm.

“Blast it, Din!” You fling out your hand, landing a sharp _smack_ against his ass. “Let me go, you rusted tin can!”

He drops his hold, and you stumble out from under his arm. You promptly flip around, shooting _daggers_ into his darkened visor. He just stares right back, resting both hands on his hips, all cool and _calm_ against your fire.

You reach up, bunch your hat in your hand, and smack it down against your thigh. “Din Djarin!” you snap. “You take too much pleasure in dominating me!”

He does not answer. Just… stands there- his visor latched on you.

You open your mouth to speak, but you slap it shut when he sharply angles his head to the side. “Ready to try the blade again?” His voice is gruffer than usual, _gravelly_. Deep and, _blast it,_ okay!

_Fucking sexy._

You yank the hat back on your head, crossing your arms tightly across your chest. “Yeah, sure,” you mumble, averting your eyes from him. “And I will hit that karking bullseye.”

You will. Kriff it. You’re done playing your little flirtatious game for attention. It’s time to show the Mandalorian what you’ve been holding back. Make him bloody well proud of you…. _Not that you care to make him proud or anything…_

You dig the heel of your foot into the dirt, marking your distance from the target. “Watch and learn, Man- _do_.”

A hand slips under your arm, gripping your elbow from behind. “ _Relax this time_ ,” Din rasps, low and _deep_ , into your ear. He releases your elbow as swiftly as he had grabbed it. You swallow, ignoring the little _lurch_ in your stomach.

Stars, _this man is a menace._

You shake your head, trying to clear it of… uh, _distraction_. Sighing under your breath, you stare out at the target.

There.

The bullseye.

_Pull back._

_Aim._

_Throw-_

“Hello!”

“ _Pablo!_ ” you yelp, watching as your vibroblade flings well _above_ the target, missing the board altogether. “You absolute _dune worm!”_ Spinning around, you stomp straight up to where Pablo stands a few feet behind Din.

Pablo leaps back, hands forward in surrender. “Wait, what did _I_ do?” He points a finger at himself.

“You-” you slap his hat back- “made me _miss!_ ”

With a sharp snort, he leans down to stare you directly in the eyes. “Maybe _you_ just need more practice, sweetheart.”

“Oh, look who’s talking!” You push against his chest. “A man encased in carbonite until I saved-”

“Oh, here we go again! I told y-”

“Din kicked your ass.”

“I was distract-”

“Froze your ass.”

“He was lucky-”

“And _I_ melted your ass.”

“Now look-”

Pablo stills, slapping his mouth shut.

At the same time, a heavy shadow drapes over your body, cloaking you within a protective cocoon. You look to the right.

“Mando,” you smirk up at Din. “I’ve changed my mind. Teach me to use a staff. Then I can keep Pablo six feet away at all times.”

You hear a puff of modulated air. “As you please, Ka’r’ika.” The words are husky through his helmet’s vocoder. He hooks a finger in his belt. “But _not_ until you’re completely healed.”

“Works for me,” you grin, letting your lazy outer rim accent slip forward. “Pablo, scram, blurg-brain. But get my blade first.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Pablo sighs, throwing you a half-hearted salute.

“You did well today.”

The grin on your face grows, practically ear-to-ear. You peek out from under your hat’s brim, meeting the Mandalorian’s dark visor boring into your eyes.

“ _You’ll be as good as me one day_.” The Mandalorian says it so low, so quiet that you could barely hear it over the breeze whipping through the homestead. He doesn’t wait for a reply, just turns to watch Pablo walk up, your vibroblade extended from his hand.

Pablo winks as you take the blade from him. “Later, sweetheart.” Chuckling, he strolls towards the hut, _thankfully_ leaving you and Din alone once again.

“Come on now-” you turn back to Din- “I could never be a professional such as yourself.” You snort before continuing, “I mean, how long have you been learning all this Mandalorian stuff? Years, I imagine.”

Din drops his hand from his belt, slowly turning, pausing upon finding a few of the children running in the distance. “See the children?”

You nod.

He drops his visor away from your face. “I wasn’t much older than they are now-” his voice slows, warming with each word he speaks- “when I was taken in as a foundling.”

You blink. “Oh.”

You might not be able read his face, but you recognize the raw emotion hidden in his tone _all too well._

“I owe them my life,” he rasps, the words scratchy through the vocoder. “After my parents died, the Mandalorians took me in as one of their own.”

_Silence._

Oh…

You- you hadn’t realized. Din mentioned his parents died during the Clone Wars, but not that the _Mandalorians_ had rescued him, taken him in. The thought of a young Din, alone and scared, trapped in the middle of a war a child could never comprehend…

_Kriff._

You swallow the lump in your throat. It… hit too close to home.

“We really _do_ have a lot in common,” you mumble, your eyes drifting along the gleaming sunlight crowning his Beskar helm.

He barely nods at your words.

Then the air turns… awkward, _tense_ … neither of you knowing what exactly to say or do next. You mindlessly flip your vibroblade over in your hand, afraid any words would make the air even more uncomfortable. I mean, what do you say? Hey, Din! It’s great we can bond over our dead families?

“To be honest-” you nearly drop the blade at Din’s voice- “I… didn’t learn much about blade throwing from the Mandalorians.”

You raise an eyebrow, questioning the hesitation in his voice.

“When I was younger, a woman... a Twi’lek…” He shuffles his weight back and forth, looking everywhere, it seems, but at _you_.

Oh.

_Oh._

You raise an eyebrow.

“A woman?” You smile a bit too sweetly, nudging the Mandalorian with an elbow. “A _lover_ , perhaps?”

He stares out at the distance, but you think you notice a slight shrug.

You force a laugh, more a _bark_ , to be honest.

“Was she _pretty?_ ”

_Silence._

You lean forward, tapping his armor with the end of your blade.

“Did she… _break your heart?_ ”

He looks at you.

“She tried to _stab_ it.”

You sheath the blade.

“Well,” you puff, “that’d certainly _kill_ a relationship.”

Yanking your blade back out, you fling it over and over and over in your hand, trying to ignore the burn searing up your throat.

Whoever she is, _blast her._

Kriffing _blast her._

You gasp- a glove shot out, gripping your wrist before you can toss the blade again.

“Are you trying to lose a finger?”

You rip your hand away, twisting around to hide the warmth exploding across your face. “Don’t coddle me, Din. I’ll never learn if I don’t face peril.”

He makes a noise you cannot decipher.

“My dad taught me,” you blurt, eager to change topics. “With knives, a little bit, I-I mean.” You slowly turn back to the Mandalorian, finding him still, patiently waiting for you to continue.

You bite your lower lip, picking at the edge of your sleeve with the blade. “But I never took his lessons very seriously. I…I just wanted to make him laugh at my stupid antics, which, of course, he would.” You smile wryly. “But, _still_ , I wish I’d taken a lot of things more seriously back then... I was too busy being a _terror_.”

Din makes a noise. A breathy “ _not surprised_ ” slips out from beneath his helm.

You crinkle your nose, choosing to pretend you _didn’t_ hear that.

Spinning your blade a few times, you stop, sheathing it once again. “You know, he’d sneak me up into the ice caves sometimes. Stars, from as young as I can remember. Taught me to use vibroblades and, eventually, even how to swing a staff. I guess he had it in his head he could turn us into little snow warriors or something.”

You throw Din a cheeky, lopsided grin. “But then me and my sister started beating each other with big sticks when we’d get angry at each other. _Then_ we’d gang up on my middle brother- two sticks against one.” You burst into warm laughter at the memory. “ _Kriff_ , did we _ever_ get a long lecture. Even longer than the time I taught my siblings to use the curse ‘kark’.”

“Doesn’t sound like you’ve changed much.” The Mandalorian’s tone is layered with amusement, and a hint of… something else.

“No,” you snort. “That’s the problem.” You crouch down on the ground, pretending you’re aiming in the distance with a weapon. “But he _loved_ showing me how to use his hunting rifle the best, even though I had horrible aim…. _Uh_ , still do, actually.” You let your eyes droop closed, releasing a heavy breath into the air. “That thing was his baby.”

Damn it.

Damn _it._

_You miss him._

The _clank_ of Beskar forces you to open your eyes. The Mandalorian’s standing in front of you now, a hand stretched out.

“I thought he was a herder.”

Taking Din’s hand, you let him pull you back up.

“Oh, he was,” you chirp. Bending down, you brush the dirt off the knees of your pants. “But _weapons_ were his hobby, practically his _religion_ , as my mother would tease.” With a small smile, you toss the Mandalorian a pointed look. “I think he would have liked you. Or, at least, your big-ass _rifle_.”

The Mandalorian just shrugs.

“Well,” you sigh, staring out at the target again while simultaneously removing your blade from its sheathe. “I think I’ve gotten the hang of this now.”

_Pull back._

_Aim._

_Throw._

**_Slam._ **

“Not bad,” you sniff, staring at your blade protruding from the center bullseye. “You’re a good teacher, Din. We’ll have to find something else for you to teach me.” You slap him on the back. “I have a few ideas.” You turn to walk away, biting back your giggle.

You hear him make a noise, barely audible with the distance.

 _“Looks like_ you _could teach_ me _...”_

\-------

You’re gunna _throw up._

You can’t believe you’re leaving this- this _haven_ tomorrow… for kriffing _Nar Shaddaa._

Holy Hutt. _Nar Shaddaa-_

The planet you _actually_ just fled from with only the clothes on your back…

_Oh, flutterplume at a festival feast!_

You’re insane. You’re actually insane.

You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting hard to restrain any sign of outward distress. After all, if there’s one lesson the galaxy beat into your brain, it’s that you never, _ever_ show any sign of weakness. Got to keep the upper hand. Got to stay ten steps ahead… Or, in your case, at least _appear_ to be…

No, as far as anyone on Arvala is concerned, you’re _excited_ for Keolith.

_…Kriff Keolith._

You release a heavy sigh, continuing to bounce the child up and down on your knee, a small smile growing on your face with every little giggle that falls from his mouth.

“Make sure to take it easy, not overdo it,” Omera calls at you from the other side of the room.

“Mhm,” you mumble, barely paying her any mind.

“I mean it. Din, make sure she obeys, okay?”

He makes a noise. “I’d wager-” the Mandalorian lays his rifle down on the table- “it’d be easier to wrangle a varactyl.”

“Din Djarin-” you keep your eyes focused on the baby, wincing as he yanks on your hair- “did you just call me a varactyl?”

“… No.”

“I give up,” Omera groans, taking the chair across from where you sit. “I learned a long time ago; patients never listen-” she sighs- “until they’ve reinjured themselves.”

You lift your eyes to meet her own. “Wait, Omera, you were a doctor?”

She laughs at the question. “I suppose it’s safe to say so, now that the Empire is gone.” She rests her elbows on the table. “I was a nurse in the Rebellion, which is where I met my late husband, a patient of mine. When I found myself expecting Winta, we felt it was time to step away together, leave the battle behind.”

“Pin two ears on a gundark!” You lean back in your chair, laughing in amazement. “No way! I _knew_ I liked you!”

The Mandalorian angles his head to the side, eyeing Omera up and down.

“Don’t give me that look, Din,” she chuckles, giving his shoulder a light shove. “ _You never asked_.”

“Maker-” you shift the baby to your opposite knee- “sounds like a story straight out of a holo. Meeting the man of your dreams in a rebellion, nursing him back to health.”

“I suppose,” Omera smiles, that certain _gleam_ in her eyes you’ve seen before.

_Uh oh._

“What about you?”

“Me? What about me?”

Omera smiles, not about to let you get away with your game. “You can’t tell me you’ve never been in love before.”

_Oh Maker._

Dangerous.

_This conversation is dangerous._

“Maybe,” you grumble, bouncing the baby on your knee again.

_Oh kriff._

“Well, maybe one day you’ll find someone.” You can see Omera is trying her absolute hardest not to laugh, but she’s _obviously_ failing.

_Stars._

_Someone._

_Anyone._

_Help!_

As if answering your plea breathed into the force, Winta dashes over, pulling on her mother’s hand and whispering for assistance. Omera nods at you, that sly smile still etched on her face, and steps away from the table.

Oh, thank the Maker! Bless all the little children.

With a weary sigh, you sneak a glance over at Din from the corner of your eye. He’s watching you… _intently_ , helmet angled to the side in that curious Lothcat way of his. He begins to lean forward, as if he’s about to ask you a-

No. _Kark that_.

_Kark that shit!_

You’ve had enough awkwardness for one day!

You burst up from your chair, cradling the baby against your chest. “We’re going to take a walk,” you speak to Din as much as to the baby. You shoot him a quick glance.

He’s still leaned forward, visor still trained on your face. He’s motionless, but _relaxed_ , shoulders slightly slumped forward, the way they do when he’s tired. You read his silence as permission, and so you turn and walk out the door, trying to ignore the lingering _sear_ of heat on your back, that lingering _prickle_ of being _watched._

Once you are through the door, you put as much distance between you and Kuill’s hut as quickly as possible, worried the Mandalorian might try and follow you outside. Grumbling under your breath, you stop at the fence line. You point up at the moon and stars, whispering for the baby to look up at them along with you.

“See those?” you whisper, grinning as the child’s large, soulful eyes fill with the reflections of hundreds of sparkling stars. “You’re just as special as those stars. Your force abilities are special, a gift.” You feel your heart swell with familiar, motherly warmth. “Special- just like you are to your father _._ ”

You tap your finger against his nose, and he bursts into a fit of giggles. “You little womp rat, _quit laughing_.” You shoot him an exaggerated frown. “It’s against the law to laugh.”

He laughs even _harder._ And so _you_ start laughing.

“The child’s grown fond of you.”

You startle at the voice, relaxing when you see it’s just Kuill, limping forward to stand beside you at the fence. “Yes-” you turn your eyes back to the baby’s face- “I suppose, like most children, they’re drawn to whomever shows them the most attention, ya little attention-seeking womp rat.” You caress his ear, smiling wistfully. “Mando doesn’t hug you enough, does he?”

“You’re very good- with _all_ of the children,” Kuill rasps, leaning his weight forward on his cane.

“Yeah, well, I had four little siblings.” You throw Kuill a pointed look, and you continue on with your ramble. “They were _such_ little monsters.” You grin. “And then there’s all the children from my village. Oh, and I often helped the other mothers with the children in the camp and-”

You freeze.

“…I- I mean-”

“Labor camp?”

Your eyes widen, your breath catching in your throat. “H-how did you-”

“Omera described the _tattoos_ on your arm to me. I understood their _meaning,_ immediately.”

“ _Oh, no_ ,” you breathe, panic bubbling, _swelling_ up in your chest. “I- I can explain-”

“I did not tell _Omera_ \- their meaning, and I suggested, for your _privacy_ -” Kuill waves his hand aside- “she should not discuss them with _anyone_ else.”

No. _No._

Blast it.

_Blast it!_

Kuill reaches out, resting a hand on your arm. “Do not concern yourself. It is _your_ story… to tell when and if you _wish_. I myself- have spent time in such places. You were a victim of the Empire… as we _all_ were.”

Raw emotion… grief… _guilt_ \- bubbles up your throat, threatening to cut off air. Choking. _Suffocating_.

“No, Kuill,” you mumble, barely audible. You place the baby down on the ground and use your free hand to tug up your sleeve.

Kuill brushes his fingers, gentle and light, across the marks, lifting his eyes to meet your face. “A life sentence.”

You rip the sleeve back down, resting both hands on your hips. With a sharp intake of air, you pull on a mask- the tough, outer rim girl persona: the same one that’s simultaneously kept you both _safe_ and in _trouble_ for far, _far_ too many years.

“And I _did_ what the Imperials sent me in for.” Your voice is hard, _tired._ Hells, you are _so blasted tired_.

You shake your head. “I didn’t _deserve_ to have my sentence commuted by the New Republic, once they took the camp over-” you rub your eyes a little too hard, filling your vision with blurring, swirling lines- “b-but I guess they figured it’d be easier to release _everyone_ than to try sorting between the political prisoners, innocent families, and… _actual_ criminals.”

_Plus, there was the issue of the children to consider…_

“I’m-” your words catch in your throat, sticking against your tongue, afraid to emerge fully from your lips. You force your eyes closed. “I’m… not as a good a person as you think, Kuill.”

Kuill grunts, tapping his cane against the fence. “I’d _think_ your recent sacrifices-” he motions the cane towards the child, toddling beside your feet- “would contradict that statement.”

“Maybe,” you mumble, avoiding looking Kuill in the eyes, “or maybe I’m still the same.”

“I think _not_.” Kuill rests against his cane. “For when you’ve _lived_ as many years as I have-”

“-you learn to recognize patterns in behavior.” You smile wryly.

“It _seems_ the galaxy has smiled upon you… given you a _second_ chance.”

“Well,” you sigh, pressing your forehead against the top of the fencepost. “I’ve been doing a _fine_ job of botching it up already, I’m afraid.”

_Stars…_

“I’d say you have _one_ path open to you _at this moment_ ,” Kuill grunts. “But what _will_ you do with it?”

“I appreciate it, Kuill, but… I _can’t_ stay here.” You give him your classic, lop-sided smile. “Gotta keep exploring this big galaxy, ya know?”

_Kriff the galaxy._

Kuill chuckles under his breath. “That wasn’t the _path_ I was referring to.” He reaches out, patting the top of hand. “I wish you _luck_ … my child.”

You blink, watching as Kuill moves away. You wait until he’s just far enough in the distance before releasing a strained breath of air.

_Maker…_

A light _coo,_ a _tug_ on your pants, shifts your attention away from yourself, away from your tumultuous thoughts. With a small smile, you reach down and pull the baby up against your neck, letting him nuzzle there as you glance back up at the stars.

Always _running_.

You’re always _running._

But one day- _one day_ , you will choose your _own damn path_.

\-------

“Wipe your eyes, Birdie-” you ruffle the top of his head- “or you’ll flood the planet and put Kuill out of business.”

Birdie launches straight into your legs, knocking an _oof_ from you _._

“But- but what if I n-never see you- you again?” He buries his face in the fabric of your pants.

Dropping down to your knees, you peal Birdie off of you, holding him back by his shoulders. “Of- of _course_ I’ll see you again, _hm?_ ” Your heart _throbs_ as you speak the lie into the air, wishing it would just carry away on the desert wind.

 _Karking hells_.

Your heart explodes, pain seeping from every new little crack. You tug Birdie into you, wrapping him up in your embrace just as new set of arms snakes around your neck from behind.

“We-we’ll miss you!” Winta says between sniffs.

“Come now,” you chirp, straining your voice to be as easy and care-free as you can muster in your compromised state. “I’ll have a _thousand_ new stories to share when I come back, _hm?_ ” Your empty promises are _apparently_ working, the heaviness easing off of their shoulders before your very eyes.

An approaching presence shifts your attention away from the children.

“All of us, the parents, felt like you should have this.” You blink, eyeing the satchel in Omera’s outstretched hand. “We owe you so much more, but-” Omera’s face tenses- “it’s a thank you to remember us by, to help you get started on Keolith.” She slides an arm around Winta’s shoulders, pulling her against her skirt.

You can’t do anything but… _stare_ at the bag, _stunned_ by the absolute generosity of the gesture. “I-I can’t take anything for-”

_“Please.”_

You don’t want it.

It feels… _wrong_ to take it.

But you won’t risk insulting them by outright refusing their kindness.

“Go into town-” you give Winta and Birdie a sly wink- “and buy the children something fun. To remember me by. To make them laugh.” You wiggle your hat back and forth, pulling it tighter against your scalp. “That’s my payment.”

A good decision, or so the little sunny grins on Birdie’s and Winta’s faces tell you. Omera hesitates- then smiles. _An agreement._ And so, you return the expression with equal warmth.

“ _Kekthar, Rukia_.”

You gasp- eyes tearing over to discover… _Kuill?_

Sularian.

A Sularian farewell.

You haven’t heard your native language spoken by another in, well… _years._

“ _Kekthar, Sudbia_ ,” you return, a small smile tickling at the corner of your mouth. As you share the smile with him, a silent understanding, a _knowing_ , passes between your eyes:

 _You are always welcome in my home_.

You will never deserve such kindness.

“Thank you, Kuill,” you whisper, bowing your head with respect.

As you continue sharing goodbyes, your heart grows _heavy_ with each one spoken aloud. Part of you wants to just barrel into the _Razor Crest_ , dive into the bed, and hide under a blanket just like the baby.

Stars, goodbyes _reek._

“ _Be careful, Din.”_ A faint conversation to your left shifts your focus away from your misery. “ _Come back as soon as you can_.” You turn, eyes widening as you watch Omera wrap her arms around Din, enveloping him in a warm, heartfelt embrace. He returns the gesture, going as far as to… _rub_ her back… _affectionately._

A _pang._

A _punch_ in the chest.

_Shavit._

Just… _shavit!_

Spinning around on your heel, you stomp towards the _Razor Crest,_ grumbling under your breath like some bitter old man.

 _Blasted seven Corellian hells_ \- just-

Stoopa. _Stoopa!_

Kriff everything a-and-

You stop.

 _Kriff,_ wait, what is this? Corellian hells, what-

Oh.

You blink, gritting your teeth.

You’re… _jealous?_

…

_You’re jealous._

You groan, yanking your hat low across your eyes. You have _got_ to stop bantering so much with the Mandalorian… _flirting_. You’re- you’re getting too _attached_. And there’s only one way this could _possibly_ end:

 _Like a nuna at a Hutt roast_ …

Uh, _not so good_ , in other words.

You turn and frown, watching the pair speak in the distance.

Omera is… _incredible._ That Beskar idiot _should_ marry her. Settle down. _Have a family._ He… deserves to have that. To be happy.

_He’s a good man._

“We really need to get going,” Cara grumbles, walking up beside you to stack a crate next to the ramp. “I’ve gone way, _way_ over schedule, and Karga is breathing down my neck, even though he _knows_ I lost my ship.” Cara pauses to sigh, leaning forward against the stack. “He says the town has gone to hell without me.”

Blinking away any lingering physical signs of your jealousy, you slip on an indifferent, bored expression.

“Why so, Cara?” Your voice hardly veils the tension brewing in your head, but Cara, _thankfully_ , does not seem to notice.

“I’ve been acting as a sort of-” she waves her hand in the air- “part-time Marshal, in a sense, on Navarro. Cleaning out a lot of the criminal rings scumming about,” Cara sighs, rubbing her face. “Still have a long way to go, but-” she lifts her eyes, giving you a sly smile- “I think I’m going to talk to Karga about dropping the Guild work completely, instead working full-time cleaning the streets. Maybe get a school up and running. And a doctor’s office; we need that too.”

“Cara,” you chuckle, stooping down to sit on a crate. “You _surprise_ me. A dreamer lurks under all that brawn.”

“Maybe,” Cara chuckles. “But even so, my reason for visiting Arvala is dead, and I’m needed on Navarro.”

You blink. “Dead?”

Cara shoots out a hand, pointing at a lone Pablo approaching with his satchel. “Dead, according the Guild registry, that is.”

A bright grin bursts across Pablo’s face. He throws his hands out at the side, spinning around until he is facing the approaching Mandalorian. “Hey, shame you and Cara lost such a priceless bounty, right, Mando?”

The Mandalorian saunters up to Pablo, pausing to stare him directly in the eye.

_“I was paid for killing you.”_

The Mandalorian knocks into Pablo’s shoulder as he moves past.

One glance at the panicked expression on Pablo’s face, and you burst into loud, _obnoxious_ laughter. He twists, shooting you a murderous look, which you happily return with only sweetness and a smile.

At least, on the bright side, you now have someone _new_ to torment besides Din.

After all, it’s the _little_ things that matter.

\-------

_“Dad!” You climb up on top of the huge fallen log, waving wildly to your dad in the distance. “Look! Watch!”_

_He pauses at your words, giving you a cheeky, lop-sided grin. “Okay, Starlight-” he leans forward against his rifle- “I’m watching.”_

_“You’re watching?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Okay, don’t look away!”_

_“I won’t.”_

_“Still watching?”_

_“Starlight-”_

_With a grunt, you spin backwards off the log, landing a perfect backflip…_

_…straight into a hidden snowdrift._

_“DAD!” you shriek, buried up to your hips in snow. You continue to wriggle, desperate to free yourself… to only sink down further with every shift. “Dad!” you yelp. You hear a rustling noise, and you jerk your head up._

_Your dad- ever the helpful, supportive parent- is leaning over the top of the log…_

_laughing at you_.

_“Starlight,” he chuckles, “very impressive. Ten out of ten for style.” He crosses his arms across the log, angling his head to the side as he stares down at you. “But you made that fatal flaw we’ve talked about before.”_

_“Dad!” you growl, in no mood to be lectured nor teased. “Get me out of here! I don’t care!”_

_“What’s that fatal flaw?”_

_“I don’t care!”_

_“Starlight?”_

_You shoot him a pathetic frown. “I didn’t observe my surroundings first.” You twist your head away, pouting your lips. “I acted before thinking.”_

_Gloved hands wrap around your arms, lifting you up out of the snow drift._

_“Good girl-” your father pulls you up against his side, rubbing your back. “Remember-”_

_“-think first, show off second.” You release a puff of air, watching as it crystalizes in front of you._

_Your dad laughs and slips you that characteristic sly wink._

_“My little snow warrior-” he grabs your hand, leading you back towards the mountain path- “such a little show-off………”_

_\-------_

“I’m not a show-off!”

Pablo flashes you a grin. “Come now, princess-”

“Okay, fine.” You crinkle your nose, lifting your hand up, two fingers spaced closely together. “Just a little bit. But still, it’s _true_.”

“Oh _sure_.”

“Yes! I could out-drink both of you, and _ten_ Corellians on top of that.” You shove against Pablo’s shoulder as you move past, sitting down beside him.

“Speaking as a Corellian man, that’s big talk, sweetheart,” Pablo slides his glass of whiskey back and forth on the table between his hands. “But are you willing to try and _prove_ it?”

“Pour me some of that-” you tap your fingers on the table, smirking at Cara- “before you and Pablo wipe out our supply.”

Cara pours and slides you a glass, a questioning expression on her face. You take a deep breath, lean back, and down the whiskey in one shot.

“Oh-” _cough- cough-_ “wow, that’s-” _cough-_ “that’s defi-” _cough-_ “de-definitely _Corellian_.”

Cara smacks her hand down on the table, clutching her stomach as she doubles over with laughter. “Oh, _dank farrick_ , your face!”

Pablo snorts. “Still think you can out-drink _ten_ Corellians?” Resting his elbows against the table, he slides the bottle towards you.

Feeling your face flush with warmth from the shot of whiskey, you can only grin and tilt your head. “I’m certain of it.”

Pablo leans back, chuckling as he crosses his arms behind his head. “Fine. The minute we land on Tatooine-” he points at you, raising an eyebrow- “I’m dragging you into the first cantina we find.”

Your smile plummets.

“ _Tatooine?_ ” You fling around in your chair, gawking over at the Mandalorian on the other side of the hull. “ _Tatooine?_ ”

He stops cleaning his blaster, lifting his helmet to meet your eyes.

“He didn’t tell you?”

You spin back around, now gawking at Cara. “Obviously _no._ I thought we were heading to _Navarro_!”

“No.” Cara shrugs, leaning back against her chair. She lifts a brow, a hint of amusement in her eyes. “Tatooine is closer than Navarro. We’ll jump transports from there, letting you and Din continue on to Nar Shaddaa.”

“ _Hell_ ,” you breathe, flopping back against your chair.

_Tatooine?_

“I’ll be loath to part from you all.” Pablo lifts his glass in the air. “I’ve grown _so_ attached to everyone…. Well-” he raises a brow at you- “minus _one_.”

“You know, Pablo-” you jump forward, slapping both hands down on the table- “ _you’re_ being awfully _rude_ for a man who’d be cargo right now if it wasn’t for _me._ ”

“Oh, _don’t_ start on-”

“I will!”

“You know good and well-”

“You’re so rude!”

“I am _not!_ ”

“ _Carbonite man_.”

“ _Don’t call me_ -”

“HEY!” You both rip your heads towards Cara.

_Silence._

She slowly leans forward. “Are you two _done?_ ”

“Absolutely,” you sniff. Leaning into the palm of your hand, you release a long, heavy sigh, choosing to just ignore Pablo.

“Stars,” you whisper, staring up at the ceiling, beginning to reminisce. “I haven’t been to Tatooine in, well… _years_. _Pretty sure_ I still owe some people money,” you grumble. “Dank farrick, I got into _so_ much trouble there.”

“As an exceptional speederbike racer.”

Your eyes rip up, trailing the Mandalorian as he sits beside Cara. “That is, if I _remember_ correctly.” His tone light, almost… _airy_ compared to his typical grumpy snaps.

Oh. He’s _teasing_ you.

You raise an eyebrow.

You know you should _stop_. _Stop_ teasing him back.

 _But_ …

“I’m better than _you,_ Din Djarin-” you lean across the table, smiling slyly as you stare him down- “ _that’s_ for certain. I’m the damn best, too.”

He shifts back, folding his hands against his stomach, just…. _gazing_ at you.

“Damn best, huh?” Cara takes a shot of her drink. “Then you should have joined the Nar Shaddaa professional circuits. High risk, high reward.” She slides the bottle of whiskey towards you. “I imagine the violence, death, and insanity would have been right up _your_ alley.”

“ _Well_ …” With a small sigh, you drop your eyes, beginning to play with the edge of your shirt. “Actually I- I _would_ have.” You lower you chin. “But… uh, had someone I needed to stay _alive_ for,” you discreetly add under your breath. 

Cara grins and lifts her glass at you. Din, _on the other hand_ , stretches his neck, dark visor pinned to your face. You snap away, staring over at the slightly tipsy Pablo instead.

“Boyfriend?” Pablo mumbles, taking the whiskey bottle for himself.

You only smile.

“Well, either way-” he sloshes his glass high- “to Tatooine!”

“ _Hell_ ,” you grumble.

You lift your own glass.

_To Tatooine._

_…_

Dank farrick.

\-------

_The darkness moves in. Closer. Suffocating. Gnawing away at the light._

_…_

_“I know why you chose this._

_…_

_You love power._

_…_

_Crave it.”_

_…_

_You bury your face in your hands. “Shut up! You know nothing!”_

_…_

_“You can’t hide forever._

_…_

_I know what you’ve done._

_…_

_And you’ve seen what I’m capable of………”_

_…_

_Something presses into your neck._

_…_

_Shit._

Your eyes blast open.

_Can’t-_

_Can’t breathe!_

Wriggling and squirming, you claw at your neck, kicking the covers off Din’s bed as you twist and turn and push and fight.

“ _Urf!_ C- _Cara_ ,” you hiss, slapping at her arm slumped across your neck. “ _Move!_ ”

Cara snores louder, oblivious to the fact that she’s, you know, _smothering you._ She mumbles something in her sleep, pulling her arm back to flop over to her side of the mattress. Launching up from the bed, you gasp, sucking in deep gulps of air. A few more seconds, a few more gulps, and you _glare_ over at Cara.

You can put up with snoring.

But you draw the _kriffing line_ at actively trying to suffocate you in your sleep.

“ _Stars_ …” you hiss, pressing a palm to your forehead before pulling it back, blinking at the sweat dripping from your hand.

You’re… _drenched_. Trembling, _shivering_ \- your soaked nightshirt and pants stinging like _ice_ in the cool air. Sliding down to the foot of the bed, you wrap your arms across your chest, squeezing tightly in a vain attempt to slow the trembling tearing at your body.

You groan, your head sloshing with exhaustion and fatigue and tension, but then… the _threat_ from your nightmare slips past it all, the memory _growling_ in your head-

_You can’t hide forever…_

Your throat catches.

Oh hell.

Oh _hell._

You slap both hands over your eyes.

_You’re dead…_

\-------

Some people turn to religion.

Some people talk to a therapist.

But _your_ newfound cure for anxiety?

 _Apparently,_ the smell of Andorian Mountain Roses.

 _Specifically_ , the faint scent of Andorian Mountain Roses lingering on the Mandalorian’s flannels.

After Cara’s murder attempt, you waited several minutes on the edge of the bed for the trembles, the _shakes_ , to dissipate… but _no such luck._ Desperate, wet, and cold, you had peeled off your soaked nightshirt, swapping it out for a flannel shirt stolen from a heap on the floor.

You bury your nose into the sleeve of the thick shirt, inhaling deeply as you pad gently across the floor of the _Razor Crest’s_ hull.

_It smells like Din._

_…_

_You’re safe with him._

_…_

_He promised._

_…_

_“Ka’r’ika?”_

You freeze, dropping your arm at the faint voice, _low_ , barely a _rasp._

You tiptoe closer to the base of the ladder leading up to the cockpit. “Din?” you whisper, staring up into the dark void above.

_“Come up.”_

Biting your lip, you tentatively rest your foot on the bottom rung. One hesitant breath, and you scamper straight up.

“Din?” you question again, poking your head up into the space above. You blink, your eyes shifting towards the cockpit windows, smiling as you admire that familiar sparkling, _dancing_ hyperspace light bouncing off everything within the cockpit.

Your eyes follow the streaking lines… forward… _straight to the Mandalorian_. He’s turned around in his chair, studying your every move.

“Hi.” You smile, a bit… _shyly._

Hm. _That’s new._

Resting back against in the pilot’s seat, he folds his hands- _gloveless_ hands- across his stomach.

Fiddling with the edge of your shirt, you gently pad into the cockpit. A sharp glance to the left- you smile. The pram is sealed again, cocooning the child as he sleeps.

You glance back to Din, and as you step closer, you notice his right pauldron is missing. “Hey-” you slip into the right co-pilot’s chair- “I hope I didn’t wake yo-”

“I was already awake.”

“Oh.” You blink, chewing on your lower lip. He seems so… close. _Stars_ , you didn’t remember the cockpit being quite this… uh, tight.

“Um, I couldn’t sleep,” you whisper, not wishing to risk waking the baby. After all, from the looks of Din and his missing pauldron, it must have taken quite some time to get the baby to sleep.

You slide forward, resting on the edge of the co-pilot’s seat. “Between Pablo’s and Cara’s snoring-” you grimace- “it’s like trying to sleep in a kriffing zoo down there. They’re both drunk off their socks.”

Din makes a noise. “Really?”

“Yeah, Cara tried to smother-”

“No-” the Mandalorian dips his helmet at you- “…is that really why you can’t sleep?”

“Am I _really_ that easy to read?” you huff, raising a brow.

_Silence._

“…You’re afraid.”

You blink, falling quiet. Of _course_ you’re afraid...

You’re _terrified._

You hear him shift in his chair, but you do not look up.

“…Why did you leave Tatooine?”

How can his voice sound so gentle, so _soft,_ even when modulated? Stars, you can only imagine it without the distortion… You glance down at the floor, spinning the chair back and forth, unwilling to meet his gaze.

“Grandpa yanked us off overnight,” you blurt, a bit surprised by how the words hurt as they emerge. You continue spinning in the chair, this time in full circles. “…Because I was a damn _idiot_.” You stop rotating, and face Din’s seat. Your eyes trail down his helmet… down his arms… to those _hands._

_Large._

_Tan._

_Scarred._

And warm- so _warm…_

 _Karking hells_ , you’ve spent too much _damn time_ thinking about how warm they felt that day… How he brushed your chin- confident, _no hesitation._ And so _blasted gentle_ , like you were made of glass.

…Oh, _seven Corellian hells…_

You’re done for.

 _Thank the Maker_ your warming face is hidden in the dim light.

A shift of movement draws your focus back over to the pilot’s chair. Din leans forward, resting his elbows against his thighs- _a silent invitation_.

Groaning, you pull a foot up into your chair, tucking it under your chin. “After… after it was just me and Grandpa-” you wave your hand in the air- “I, uh, had a talent for getting into… _situations._ ”

You turn your eyes away, fearing you might not have the strength to continue if you shared even just _one_ glance with him. “Grandpa- he kept having to pull us off planets. I’d always get mixed up with the wrong crowds, gangs, whatever. We could never stay one place too long.” With every word you speak, your throat tightens- _constricts._

Your… your Grandpa deserved _so much better than you._

“I just… kept acting out more and more the older I got.”

_Stupid._

_So stupid._

Flopping your head back against the chair, you stare up at the ceiling. “By Tatooine, I was pretty much… _unmanageable_. He tried- he really did- but, in a way, I think- I think he had given up on me. He stopped asking so many questions when I’d be gone for hours, sometimes _days_ , at a time. He was… he was so used to me running off.”

Biting the inside of your cheek to keep the burning in your eyes at bay, you continue. “Remember the boy I told you about? The speederbike racer?” You venture a glance at Din, finding him in the same position, leaned forward against his thighs. He gives you a light nod.

“He…he was part of an illegal racing club. He got me in- I was good, _great_ at it.”

“Damn best?”

You smile at Din.

“Hell yeah,” you chuckle, pulling your second leg up into the chair, tucking it under your chin. “I pulled a lot of _ill-advised_ stunts. Got me noticed by the right, or rather _wrong_ , people. A Hutt sponsored me as his challenger in the biggest speeder race Tatooine had seen in _years_.”

You groan, burying your face in the palms of your hands. “And, under _no_ uncertain terms, I was to win… or _else._ And, of course, my stupid self thought-” you throw both hands in the air- “‘ _Great! I’ll win, no big deal! Win lots of money and fame! What an honor to be a Hutt favorite!’”_

You shoot Din a knowing look.

He sits back, tapping his fingers against his thigh.

“What… happened?” His words are hesitant.

“I karking won, of course.” You cross your arms. “What else did you expect?”

He just _stares_ at you- tilts his head to the side.

You make a noise. “Grandpa _flipped_ when he found out. He knew how’d things would inevitably end- entering those kinds of races, working with the Hutts.” You let out a dry laugh. “He yanked me off that planet, kicking and screaming. I thought he was _ruining_ my future. Turns out, I did a _fine_ job of that on my own.”

_Stars… you can’t think about Grandpa right now- don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry-_

“A-anyway-” you force a laugh- “um, enough about me.” You lift your chin, tossing Din a forced grin. “Tell me something about _yourself_.”

“Such as?”

A slight smirk grows on your face. Actually… there is something you’ve been dying to ask him, but… it just never felt appropriate- you felt too intimidated to question. But here, draped in the dancing blue hue of hyperspace, he somehow feels less like a Mandalorian and more like… _just a man._

“Can you ever take that helmet off?” you blurt. You instantly cringe, regretting the words the second they leave your lips. “You don’t ha-”

“I can.”

You blink.

He spins around away from you, facing the console. “For my children.” He flicks a switch. “And a… a _wife._ ”

“…Oh.”

You tilt your head to the side. _Huh._

“Stars, wait-” you shoot up in your chair- “does that mean you’ve _never_ kissed anyone before?”

He freezes.

_One second-_

_Two seconds-_

_Three seconds-_

“Sorry!” You press a hand against your cheek. “Sometimes I- I blurt before thinking.” You flop backwards, sighing heavily. “Anyway, you’re not missing a thing. Kissing is disgusting. Think about it- swapping spit? Touching _tongues?_ With another person?” You crinkle your nose. “It’s _nasty_.”

You lean forward, eyes widening. “Oh, my Maker! One time, I was dared to kiss a Gungan, and I think I’ve had lingering trauma ever…. uh, since…” You press your face into your knees, your face warming. “Ah, um, you know what? _Never mind_.”

 _Kark_ \- maybe try thinking before speaking just once- _JUST once?!_

The Mandalorian resumes fiddling with the switches on the console, as if you hadn’t been speaking at all- _thank the force._

After all, the Gungan story was rather hard to explain.

A few minutes pass, no word spoken aloud, and the cockpit falls into a stillness.

A _calm_ stillness.

Just… _tranquility._

You suck in a deep breath of air, sinking deeper into your chair. Even with your awkward blunders, you feel more comfortable, _safer_ in this moment than you have in far, _far_ too long.

Eyelids drooping, time begins to swirl around you, mixing _, blending_ with the hyperspace light. Lost in the realm between consciousness and sleep, you are barely aware of a lingering presence that looms beside you.

You drift away from sleep, sailing closer to consciousness. Parting your eyes just enough to see, a small smile slips onto your lips. He- _Din_ \- hovers over you. He reaches up, removing the cape from his back, and drapes it over you as your eyes slip back closed. You feel the weight of it pause halfway.

A slight _tug_ \- a _pull-_ on the edge of your shirt.

Your eyes part, your groggy smile returning.

“ _Keep it_ ,” Din rasps, barely a whisper. He continues rubbing the fabric of his shirt you wear between two fingers. _“Looks… nice.”_

The weight of the cape moves up, fully cocooning you, safe, _warm,_ much like his son that sleeps beside you.

_“Sweet dreams… Meshla.”_

_“Mmf_ ,” you mumble. “What’s… th- _at_ … _mean?_ ”

Skin traces the outline of your ear.

_“Nuisance.”_

_“Kriff… you.”_

_“Go to sleep.”_

You smile, letting your mind sail back towards the shoreline of sleep.

\-------

“HEY! Get away from there! You _know_ he doesn’t like droids!”

You lumber down the ramp after the Mandalorian, squinting against the unforgiving rays of the twin Tatooine suns. You lift a hand to your eyes, blinking as a woman- head full of tight curls- marches towards the _Razor Crest._

“May as well let them have at it,” the Mandalorian grumbles. “The _Crest_ needs a good once over.”

“Oh! So, he _likes_ droids now. Well, you heard him.” The woman waves at a crew of droids. “Give it a once over!... I guess a lot has changed since you were last in Mos Eisley.”

The Mandalorian pauses in front of the stranger with Cara, Pablo, and yourself gathering around him.

“Well, looky here! You’ve made new friends!” The woman narrows her eyes, leaning in towards Pablo. “Hopefully you three won’t try and kill me like the _last_ one this Mandalorian dragged in here.”

She leans into you this time. “If you ask me, I think your Mandalorian here _needs_ a good group of friends,” she whispers under her breath. “ _The man doesn’t live well.”_

You slap a hand over your nose, pressing to muffle your burst of laughter.

But then _Pablo_ laughs, and you just _can’t_ hold it in.

The Mandalorian sighs, not sparing the two of you a glance.

“I’m Peli.” The woman nods again, oblivious to the effect her words have had on you and Pablo. “I am a very- _OH ho!_ ” Peli launches forward, swooping the baby out from the Mandalorian’s satchel. “I’ve missed this little one! Let me guess, I’m needed for babysitting services? Don’t ask! Yes!” She rocks the baby against her hip, and the baby, delighted by the attention, grins and giggles- clearly very pleased to see Peli again.

“If it isn’t too much trouble.” The Mandalorian reaches out, stroking the child’s ear. “The girl and I need to resupply. I’d rather leave the child here.”

“I have a _name_ , Mando,” you grumble under your breath, shooting him a glare.

He keeps his head straight, focused on Peli, ignoring your protest.

“Of course!” Peli shouts, walking several feet away as she rambles away to the child.

“Mando-” Cara touches his arm- “I’ll catch up with you later today before we leave Tatooine. I’m taking Pablo with me.” She eyes Pablo, a suspicious gleam in her eyes. “He _claims_ he has a contact, can get Navarro hooked up with a good supplier.”

“Of course!” Pablo flings his hands out, grinning ear to ear. “Old Bolbo is a close friend! He completely forgave me for that incident with his sister in Anchorhead!”

Cara stares at him.

“Oh, hell.” She adjusts the rifle on her back. “Let’s get this over with.”

You chuckle to yourself, shaking your head as Cara and Pablo walk off towards the exit.

“Peli-” the Mandalorian walks after her- still dashing back and forth, rambling to the child. “I want you to keep the doors secured until I get back.” He hooks a finger in his belt, his helmet following Peli back and _forth_ , back and _forth_. “Don’t open them for anyone you don’t know.”

“Oh!” Her eyes brighten. “I actually have a defender droid now! 4PO!” she shrieks, waving her hand in the air. “Come on! Come on! Wa- _iting_.”

Your eyes widen, watching with a mixture between disbelief and dismay, as a silver droid stumbles forward- red light radiating from its joints. “Um,” you bite your lip, fighting against the laughter swelling up your throat. “Isn’t… isn’t that a _protocol_ droid?”

“It’s been refitted!” Peli slaps the droid with her free hand. “4PO! DEFENDER MODE!”

The droid wobbles back and forth- bolts and screws raining down, bouncing across the floor. You blink. “Is- is th-”

The droid’s head snaps to you.

“<death is but a relief from our meager existence>”

…

…

_…_

The Mandalorian looks at Peli.

“Keep the doors secured.”

His hand wraps around your upper arm, pushing you towards the exit.

“Blast it, 4PO!” Peli’s shouts from behind, pulling a giggle from your lips. “I can’t believe you’ve embarrassed me like this! What do you have to say for yourself?”

“<i am trapped in this shell. i cannot die.>”

_“4PO!”_

\-------

Ah, Mos Eisley Spaceport:

Dangerous? _Yes._

Scummy? _Yes._

Entertaining? _Also_ yes.

You grin beneath the scarf wrapped around your face, gawking at all the activity and interesting faces that swarm past you on the street. You are so enraptured with the sights and sounds that the Mandalorian is occasionally forced to grab your arm and pull you against his side.

“ _Stay close_ ,” he’d grumble… before you’d inevitably leave his side again five minutes later.

“Mando!” you call from the top of a store’s steps, waving across the street for him.

He sweeps forward, stopping beneath you just at the bottom step.

“ _Stop disappearing_.”

His voice is hard, all bounty hunter.

“What?” You grin, skipping down the steps to stand beside him. “The bounty hunter can’t hunt me down? Keeps losing me?”

He releases a heavy, long-suffering sigh and angles his head down at you.

“ _Move_.”

Giggling under the scarf, you allow the Mandalorian to lead you inside the store. You don’t wait for instructions nor directions- you know what you want, and you’re going to get what you want. The Mandalorian finds you a minute later. He doesn’t say anything, just stands on the opposite side of the rack as you claw through the hangers.

You stop long enough to give him a look. “The baby needs clothes, Mando.” You continue clawing through the limited selection. “That _sack_ he wears is ridiculous. Now go, leave me alone. I don’t need you hovering.”

He throws his head to the side, a small sigh slipping out- but he obeys your command.

You sneak a glance from the corner of your eye, a lop-sided smile stretching across your face. He’s off to the side, trying to appear occupied, but you know what he’s doing:

He’s not letting you get further than ten feet away.

The hovering- the lingering, keeping an eye on you…

It’s… _kind of cute._

…But irritating.

Still, considering the incident on Arvala, he has good reason to hover… _You’d do well to remember that yourself._

After making a few selections, you spin around, expecting to find the Mandalorian where you left him. But he’s _gone._

“Hm.” You twist your head around but spying him _nowhere_ in the store.

_Fine._

Guess he took your command seriously this time. You make your purchases and step outside the door. Just as you go to sit on the top step, the _clank-clank_ of Beskar jolts you around.

“Mando!” You throw both hands on your hips in mock frustration. “You left me.”

He rests a hand against his holster, and _chuckles._ “Make up your mind, Ka’r’ika.”

You drop the frown, trading it in for a blooming grin. “Fine. What was so important that you left me behind?”

His helmet angles down, his hands fiddling with something hanging off from his belt.

“I was next door… I… saw this.” He reaches out, presenting you what’s in his hand. “Thought it… suited you. Better than the one I have. Mine’s… too long. This suits your size. Suits your height… better.”

You tentatively take the plain metal bar, no longer than the length of your hand. “Ah, thank you, Mando! I… love it.” You blink. “Um, what is it?”

He points to a switch on the side.

“Is tha- _OH!_ ”

A blade slices out from the end. “Seven Corellian hells!” you laugh. “This is- wait, what’s this do- OH _KRIFF!_ ”

You nearly throw it from your hands. One flick of a switch, and the bar the length of your hand grows to be three, maybe even four feet in length

“Din!” you hiss, tapping the staff down onto the ground. “You bought me a weapon to kill people with!” You flick the switch again, grinning as it collapses back to the size of your hand. “I’m going to cry!”

The Mandalorian grunts, angling his head to the side. “Weapon to _defend._ ”

You flick the switch again, grinning as the blade slides away, hidden within. “Well.” Hooking the bar onto you belt, you look up at him with an impish smirk. “Now you’re _trapped._ You have no choice but to train me with a staff.”

“That’s the idea.”

You can’t help but grin like an idiot.

\-------

“Where are you going?”

“Refresher,” you shout, continuing to march away from the Mandalorian and straight towards a cantina. You step inside, grimacing at the _smack_ of stench that punches you in the face.

Uhg, what’s with cantinas and unwashed masses?

Shaking your head, you let your eyes sweep around the dim, dingy, and nearly empty cantina. Ah, there’s th-

“OH!” you squeak, pulling away from the hand grasping your shoulder. “Din!” you hiss, pushing against his arm.

“I _said_ stay close.”

“You can’t use your bounty hunter voice on me and expect it to work.” You march away. “Unless you’re coming with me into the refresher, wait for me out here.”

\-------

You are only gone a few minutes, but you are frustrated to find yet again- yes, _again_ \- the Mandalorian has disappeared within that time frame. With a heavy sigh, you sit down at the bar, ignoring the other patrons beginning to trickle in as Tatooine’s work hours for the day come to a close.

“Hello there, miss.” A young man sits next to you at the bar. He throws you a smile.

_Ah, he’s cute._

“Never seen you here before. Mind if I buy you a drink?”

A sly smirk tickles at the corner of your mouth.

_An idea._

“I never refuse a free drink.”

You flick your eyes back towards the cantina entrance. _“Come on, Din. I want to have fun with you.”_

“Say,” the man leans towards you as the bartender slides you your drink. “How about we go somewhere, _hm?_ ”

You crinkle your nose, lifting the drink to your lips. “No thanks.”

“But I bought you a drink-”

“I don’t remember leaving with you being part of that deal.”

The man’s facade drops, his expression twisting into irritation. “Girl, you hav-”

“Unless you want to talk to my husband into letting me go with you, I just _can’t_.”

You bite away the grin that begs to explode across your face as you watch the man’s eyes widen _twice_ their typical size.

“Husband?”

You twist your head, and stare across the bar-

-directly at a looming, hulking, _intimidating_ , Beskar-donning _Mandalorian_.

The man _leaps_ from you, his eyes not leaving the Mandalorian- not for one _second_. “Uh, um, look I- I didn’t mean anything.” He throws his hands up.

“Honey-” you take another sip of your drink- “could you watch the kids so I can go with this gentleman?”

The Mandalorian’s visor is glued to the man- _searing_ him to the ground.

_A bird stalking prey._

"You know the kids don’t listen to me, _Cyare._ ” His voice is quiet _, dangerously contained_. “So, you chose.”

He stalks around the bar, slowly, _deliberately_ …

“Do I string him up for the rancors… or do I _shoot him now?_ ”

“I like rancors,” you chirp, twisting to look up at Din. “They’re kinda cute.” You turn back-

“Hey, he’s gone!” You groan as the Mandalorian wraps his hand firmly around your upper arm, pulling you off the barstool.

_“Let’s go.”_

“Just when I was making friends.”

“I’m getting you back before you get yourself _shot._ ”

“But I have my stick now!”

“ _Staff_ , Ka’r’ika.”

“Yes, staff- a big _stick_.”

A beaming grin bursts across your face at the pained, _long-suffering_ sigh that erupts from his helmet’s vocoder. He continues to lead you in silence through the streets of Mos Eisley, only coming to a stop after pulling you aside in an alley.

“I can handle myself, Din,” you teasingly smile, pressing your back up against the wall.

He hovers over you, tilting his head forward. “You’ve _yet_ to convince me of that.”

You bite your lower lip, mischief tickling in the back of your mind.

“I’m _fast,_ remember?”

He leans forward, _closer_ into your face. _“So you always say.”_

You let your smile slowly drop… _drop… drop…_

His hands shoot out-

You lean back-

_SMACK._

You laugh as Din stares down- _stunned_ \- at the staff held sideways in your hands, blocking him from grabbing you. You push the bar against him, ducking sideways to escape his grasp.

“ _Nice try!”_ you growl through your gritted teeth as you bolt down the alley. _“Race you to the hanger!”_

Burning every drop of adrenaline flooding your bloodstream, you blast through the twisting turns of the alleyway labyrinth, hissing each time you think you see a _gleam_ of Beskar from the corner of your eyes.

_Blast!_

You slide sideways across the dirt, narrowly avoiding bursting through a vendor’s cart, cackling as the vendor hurdles curses at your fleeing back. Taking a sharp turn, you speed into another alley, sliding across the loose dirt as you stumble to a halt- unable to continue another _foot_ without passing out.

“K- _kriff!_ ” you pant, twisting your head back and forth, spying for even just a _hint_ of shining Beskar in the empty alley.

“I’m out- out of… _shape!_ I- I can’t- _AHRG!_ ”

You fall forward, _hard_ , against the ground to escape what dropped from the roof behind you.

 _“DIN!”_ you shriek, baring your teeth at him.

_"Keep up.”_

He spins around.

Kark _that!_

You launch forward, grabbing onto his cloak, and- _yank!_

“Bitch, _get back here!”_

You stumble into his back and wrap both arms tightly around his neck- bursting into a fit of giggles as Din _lifts you up_ and _keeps moving forward_. He reaches his hands back, pulling your legs up around his waist- essentially _carrying you_ _piggyback._

 _“Din!”_ you yelp between barks of laughter. “I-I’m _slipping! OH!”_

You plummet to the ground. You roll over on your back, rubbing the tears from your eyes. “S- _stars!_ Oh.. _oh_ kriff! I- I’m hu- _hurting!_ From… la- _laughing!_ Oh, ouch! O- _Ouch!”_

Your eyes finally clear of the blurring tears-

 _There he is_ \- kneeling beside you- looking down- _laughing at you._

“Din!” you giggle, slapping a hand up against his chest. “ _Jerk!_ You dropped me on purpose!”

His laughter gently fades away- and he stands, reaching a gloved hand out for you.

“ _Come, Ka’r’ika_ ,” he rasps, his tone… deeper than usual. “Let’s get back to the hanger.”

You grin, looping your arm around his.

“Anywhere you say, Din.”

Truly, _anywhere._

At this point, the man could lead you straight into a rancor’s din, and _you’d_ _jump in if he did too._

\-------

Something’s wrong.

You _know_ how he normally walks- confident and striding.

…Something’s _wrong._

“Din?” You tilt your head to the side, raising a brow. “What did Peli tell you? What’s…?”

He stops- pausing just before the cockpit ladder- and angles his head at your voice.

“There’s a Mandalorian to the north. Mos Pelgo.” He turns around and starts slowly walking towards you.

“…Oh.”

You lower yourself into a chair, not exactly sure where this is going…

“That’s… good, I guess?” Crossing your arms together, you chuckle. “Sometimes it’s hard to imagine there’s more than one of you.”

He rests both hands against his hips, turning to face the hull wall.

“I’m going out there.” He throws you a quick look. “After Cara returns to keep you safe. I’m… taking the child with me.”

“Ah, sure?”

_He’s leaving something out…_

“But… _why_ , exactly?”

“I’m hoping a Mandalorian can… _lead_ me to someone. The child-” Din’s voice quiets. “He’s… _special_.”

_Oh._

“Is this about his force abilities?”

“ _Force?”_ Din rips his head around. “You mean… Jedi?”

With a small smile on your face, you pull both legs up into the chair with you. “Jedi _use_ the force. Think of it as-” you wave your hand in the air- “like an _energy_ thing. The force binds all things, connects all things… real mystical stuff.”

Din does not move. Just… stares at you.

“What do you know of the Jedi?” His voice is quick.

You grunt, shifting your eyes to the floor. “I know they’re all dead now, for the most part. Hunted like _animals_ by the Empire." You force a dry laugh. “They- they didn’t stop at the adults. No-” you shake your head- “slaughtered the _children_ too. Kriffing _creeps_. Hunted down each last survivor- _any_ force user- one by one.”

_Silence._

"How… do you know this?”

“My Mom.” You release a heavy sigh. “She wanted more- more _excitement_ than what life on Sularia offered. She was intelligent, and her intelligence earned her a job as a civilian contractor with the Republic during the Clone Wars.” You smirk at Din. “Grandpa was _not_ happy with her.”

You tilt the chair backwards, staring up at the ceiling as you speak. “She worked among the Jedi. Friends with many of them.”

 _You hear Mom’s weeping in your ear… her eyes radiating such… pain and loss._ You dig your fingers into your palm, willing the memories away, your eyes sliding closed-

“He must be trained.”

Your eyes blast open, flying straight to Din. “ _What?_ ”

“After Arvala- what he did to the woman on Arvala-” Din lowers his head, avoiding your glare- “I _knew_ he was strong, but…

“Din,” you grit your teeth- “you _must_ forget he’s special.” You throw your hand out. “Forget Arvala _ever_ happened. _”_

“A Jedi can train him.” Din is speaking more to _himself_ than to you. “After I leave Nar Shaddaa, I will return to my quest. Find the kid a Jedi.”

_Silence._

_“What?”_ You launch up out of your chair.

“If what you say is true-” Din’s voice is level and even, barely audible even in the silence- “ _I_ can’t protect him. He… needs to be trained.”

“ _Trained?_ ” You voice strains in your throat, tightening with every word. “Didn’t you _hear_ me? It’s too _dangerous_ to let him follow that path!”

The Mandalorian faces you. “ _Danger_ is all he’s ever known.” He turns and begins to stalk away. “I was wrong to not follow my quest. I… _must_ follow my creed.” He stops. “ _This is the way_.”

“The way?” You race over to his side, staring up into that emotionless visor. “To _give up_ a child that loves you? That you’ve called _son?”_ You grab his arm. “ _Refuse_ him a happy, _normal_ childhood?”

“His life with me is not normal. It’s no life for a child.”

“And- and life as a _Jedi_ isn’t either!” your voice raises. “They aren’t allowed to _express love_ \- hold attachments!” You clench your fists, willing your breathing- and voice- to level back out. _“That is no way for a child to be raised.”_

“That is their way.” The Mandalorian rests a hand on a ladder rung. “And… this is mine.”

Blood _explodes_ in your ear.

_“How can you be so cold!”_

The Mandalorian’s head shoots to you.

“If you _cared_ about him, you’d- you’d _keep_ him- _fight_ for him- _love him_ every day- thank the Maker he’s _there_ every morning when you wake up!” Furious tears sting the corners of your eyes, but you wipe them away with your sleeve- _refusing_ to let them fall. “ _Grateful_ you have more than just your _memories_ and _dreams_ of him to hold!”

“I _do_ care about him.” The Mandalorian’s voice cuts dangerously calm. “But unlike _you,_ I can’t be _selfish_.” He steps forward, forcing you to take a step back. “Doing whatever I want; whatever I please.” He stops, his voice quieting. “I… I cannot give him what he needs. He… needs more than _me._ ”

Selfish? _Selfish?_

_The decaying stench of Nar Shaddaa wafts down the streets as you walk lower, deeper into the underbelly of the rotting city center. The tears have now dried on your cheeks, but you know the streaked mascara staining your cheeks will give their existence away. You will have to duck into the sink first before heading into your dilapidated apartment- you can’t let her see any evidence of your suffering._

_It’s all for her, and that’s all that matters._

“You-” you swallow the lump cutting off your air, pressing your hands behind your back to hide their trembling- “You know _nothing_ of my life! And frankly, you know nothing of _me,_ Mandalorian.”

“I know enough.” His tone matches your still, quiet coldness. “You’d put _your_ feelings and attachment over what’s best for him.”

“How can you say that while I stand here-” you jab at your side- “carrying _scars_ I took for that child!”

He takes a step forward, his hands raised almost as if in regret, but you cut him off.

“You sound _just_ like a Jedi!” you shout. “Maybe you _would_ be the perfect teacher for him!”

His hands drop.

“I… will not dishonor him by denying him his way- his people.” He lowers his head to the floor, almost as if speaking to himself again. “I can’t let the way you are influence me.”

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?” you hiss, the blasting blood deafening in your ears.

“You make rash, impulsive, _emotional_ decisions.” The Mandalorian’s words slice your heart, cutting you down to the core.

“You _never_ take the bigger picture into account, the greater _implications_ of your actions. Some things are more important than _you_ or _I_ want.”

“What about what he wants? You’re his _father!”_ you yell, giving up on restraint. “That is more important than _anything!”_

“He… he will _forget._ ”

You blink.

“A child-” your voice drops, _quiets_ \- “never forgets love.” You shake your head, nausea brewing in your stomach. “How can you be so _cold?_ So… _callus?”_

He _scoffs_ at you.

“You’re being foolish.”

He turns to leave.

“ _Mandalorian_ -” your eyes are on fire, _burning_ \- “You’re the _only_ fool I see. You’ve been given a _gift_ ; do you _know_ what I’d _give_ to have that again?”

He stares you down.

“But- but because you’re _scared_ \- you’re scared of _failing_ him- you want to just dump him off on the first Jedi that crawls into your path!” You shake your head, using every _ounce_ of control to keep from _exploding_.

_You fail._

“You’re the one being selfish _, Mando! A coward!”_

“I’ve sacrificed _everything_ for him.” His voice takes on that dangerous tone again- _warning_ you with every word spoken. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“I thought you were _more_ than a heartless bounty hunter under all that armor-” you sneer, tapping a finger against his chest- “but I guess I was _wrong_!”

_Silence._

“You were wrong to assume anything about me,” he rasps under his breath, leaning into you. “I don’t have to explain myself or _any_ of my decisions to you _._ We’re done here.”

He jerks around, sweeping up into the cockpit of the ship

“And I’m- I’m sorry I ever assumed I could _know_ you, _trust_ you!” You shout from the base of the ladder, hands trembling against the rungs. “Y-you don’t deserve the light you have been _given!”_

You burst away from the ladder, racing straight into the sleeping quarters and slamming the doors closed. You slump down into the corner, clutching a pillow tightly against your chest.

The nightmares, the memories _, the voices,_ echo- _scream_ \- in your ears…

_“Mama!”_

\-------

You stare straight ahead.

Exhausted.

You’re… _exhausted._ Emotionally. Physically.

Just- _exhausted._

Ever since the Mandalorian left with the child for Mos Pelgo, you’ve been stewing alone in the cockpit, trying to make sense of your tumultuous emotions.

You- you _just don’t understand._ How…?

You lean forward in the pilot’s seat, burying your face in your hands.

How could he-

_“Mando?”_

You gasp, tearing your head up. The blue hue of the holo-display showers the dark cockpit in twinkling light.

A man- a stranger- stands in the display.

 _“Answer the holo, Mando.”_ He places both hands on his hips. _“It’s important.”_

You blink.

Hesitantly, you reach forward, flicking on the switch.

“Hello?” you question.

The man stares at you, taking in your unexpected appearance.

_“I need to speak with the Mandalorian.”_

“He, uh, he’s not here, and I don’t know when he’ll be back.” You lean forward, raising an eyebrow. “Can I… give him a message?”

_“I assume you’re the girl from Taek?”_

You slowly nod.

_Silence._

" _I wasn’t going to talk with you about this-”_ he glances away, his voice lowering- _“but it appears I have no choice… Do you know who I am?”_

“Ah, no.” You lean back in the pilot’s seat. “Should I?”

_“My name is Greef Karga-”_

“Oh, yes!” you interrupt. “Cara’s spoken highly of you.”

 _"Then you know my line of business.”_ He takes a few steps to the side, as if considering his words. _“I was just visited by three individuals that should be… of interest to the Mandalorian… and you.”_

“Oh no,” you breathe. “Is this about Taek again? Stars! They- more trouble from Nar Shaddaa?”

Greef slowly crosses his arms. _“Not exactly.”_

You blink. “Then I don’t… understa-”

" _They sought you.”_

Your blood freezes.

You- _you can’t breathe._

 _“I told them nothing, of course. I informed them the Guild had no files, no information whatsoever. That you had never been on our radar.”_ Greef leans forward, his voice falling low. _“They left most displeased.”_

“No- don’t tell me this.” You press your head down into your knees. “ _Don’t tell me this_.”

_“I suggest you tread carefully, my dear-”_

You lift your head.

_“-they were Mandalorian.”_

\-------

You slip around the corner of the stone building, sliding right past the dumpsters lining the Mos Eisley street. You tighten the scarf around your face as you tip-toe into an alley- jumping at any _hint_ of movement like a Lothcat on spice.

“ _Stars,_ ” you hiss, tightening your arms across your chest, collapsing in on yourself as you walk.

Your life-

_-is a disaster._

But it’s _your_ disaster, for _you_ to face. You will _not endanger the child_ , put _anyone else in the line of fire._

With _Mandalorians_ after you… Leaving- _running away_ \- it’s your _only choice._

A sob erupts, and you slap a hand across the scarf covering your lips, pushing against the fabric.

_You can’t give in. Not now. Not now._

You sink down into the dirt, pressed up against the wall tucked back behind a stack of boxes.

_Trembling… You can’t stop trembling._

Something hard presses into your leg, and you glance down.

_Your staff…_

_Din._

You take it off your belt, pressing it against your cheek. Groaning, you slide your eyes closed.

_You’re- you’re going to miss him. All of them. You- you-_

You part your lips, all the pent-up _fear_ and _heartbreak_ and _pain_ and _frustration_ bleeding out in in one long wail, the tears flooding, _drowning_ your cheeks.

_You’re all alone._

_You’re all alone again._

_You’re all fucking alone._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know what you’re thinking: OH NO! I forgot to get wille_zarr a Christmas gift! 
> 
> No problem! Leaving a comment takes five seconds, and it’s free!
> 
> But seriously, OH. MY. STARS. The comments on chapter 7- you have NO IDEA how that pushed me to write this. I’ll be honest, this chapter probably would have taken another 1-2 weeks to write if it wasn’t for the love and comments last chapter! I spent countless nights staying up till 3AM trying to get this done. Again, thank you so much. You have no idea what it means to me- your comments fuel my writing! I love hearing from my regular readers! PLEASE let me know your thoughts from chapter 8!
> 
> Special thanks for sana-katarn on tumblr, whose endless knowledge of Old Republic terminology I inquired of endlessly while writing… really this entire story! She’s actually the best.
> 
> Next, as always, [come hang with me on tumblr](https://wille-zarr.tumblr.com/). Mando love 24/7. (Plus, I post updates about my writing on there.)
> 
> Also, this story will NOT being following season two. At times (such as in this chapter), some events from chapter two may pop up. But not much at all.
> 
> One last thing before I move into season 2 finale spoilers: next chapter, the action/angst kicks up- AGAIN. Like wow, I am so excited for everyone to read it! Things are kicking into gear! (And don’t worry, we will see the Arvala family again very soon!)
> 
> **SEASON 2 FINALE SPOILERS BELOW YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED:**
> 
> \-------
> 
> Okay, so W O W. That finale. Let’s talk.
> 
> I am 100% serious, I had this chapter, the scene where Din and reader fight over the child training to be a Jedi, planned out WELL before the finale! So, imagine my shock that this chapter and that particular scene in the finale happened to fall so close together! I felt a bit bad leaving this chapter on a sad note so soon after the finale, but it couldn’t be avoided. So, I’ll just say: trust where I’m going with things! It’s going to be surprising- in a good way! :)


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